


Society's Norms

by Kasan_Soulblade



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Birth by Sleep - Freeform, Even+Ienzo Father/son relationship, Ienzo backstory, M/M, Pre KH one, THe apprentices, m/m relationship (non graphic)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-11-30 00:00:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 24,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kasan_Soulblade/pseuds/Kasan_Soulblade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They weren't... normal.  Of course not.  Taboo and unwanted, how normal could you get.  But before those last days, they tried, sucsess wasn't a garentee.</p><p>But before it fell apart, perhaps happiness was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The last

Sociaty's Norm

The last

In the last days he would set his ear to the earth.

Not to hear the steady silences -for whose ear _could_ descurn the grinding of plates and comprehend thier subtle vibrations with miles of earth between the vibrations and the ear- or that fantic echo of his heart's misplaced beat in his head.

Nor was it to savior the cold.  For it was cold, here, under the lightless earth.

Parinoia while a possibility was not an actuality.  The allusions, heavy handed and precious, were strictly in the negatice.  See the first word of the sentiment's start.  All denials, as in _a_ denail not the state there of.

In this he could be no more foward.

While there could be many assumptions diverged of whim, association, history, and the like, there were tells.

On hand, neither favored he switched from time to time, would grip. The other would tap.  And in that near perfect silence of solitude there would be an indulgence of sylibles.  A whisper.

"This is the moment, my moment, this is the truth."

In the last days, such assurances were nessescary, to confirm he wasn't losing his mind.

Footsteps, crisp, like steel shattering ice.  The steps broke the britle quiet, the door opened as he was caught between sitting and standing.

And though there was dark, ringed round about the man's eyes, and there was dark this room and all the others. Such dark was catalogued by roaming green eyes.

Considering what he'd done, what he'd seen, little wonder he tallied shadows, little wonder they all did...

Despite the dark, the tall blond man smiled.  The barest lifting of the lips, with only a ghost of warmth.  But it was there, though.  Enough that he smiled, though the motions felt hollow and the dark of his heart only allowed them to rise so far.

But better that than _too_ far... Too far, like Briag, and... and others.

"Fall agian?" Harsh, the tones, the glare, still the smile from before softened it all.  "Really Ienzo, what am I to do with you?  Must we get your coat tailored once more?"

"No."  Another indulgence, to talk with Even, not as rare as it could have been, but growing rarer.

Still, it was the last days, before the silence, and the dark, and the breaking.

"Good."

The younger was standing, hair in his eyes, hair grey in this gloomy light. The blue of it's edges were lost in a wash of shadows.  Still, shadows being what they were, insubstantial yet there, they parted under the extended hand.  The hand that though chill, smoothed back the untamable.

A squirm, a shrug, and the hair was as chaotic as before, one blue eye neatly obscured, the other thinned into a glare.

"Appologies." Tucking his hand into his coat pocket the elder scientist sighed. Somehow savoring the moment lost, nurtring regret in pleasure's place. Moment done he straightened, his own geen eyes pressing into a near glare. "We've an experiment, lowest labs, coming?"

And, perhaps as an appology all his own, Ienzo offered a whispered.  "Yes. Always."

A crackle, more cackle than mirth.

"At least that hasn't changed!"

Then the man turned about, leaving the portal open, a few steps, then gone.

There was no more waiting, to catch up, and what not.  Not in these last moments.

It was something they'd grieve, in the void that was after.


	2. Out of Order, AKA Even, meet Ienzo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little wonder they met in the library, consdiering everything... it was more blessing than interuption.

Society’s Norms

Chapter 2

Out of Order

It should have begun with “Once upon a time” because that’s how all the stories began in tales.

There would have been some hardship, some revelation, resolution, and then the end neatly anointed with the words “ The End”.

That’s how it went in the books.

And stories were his love.

All words were, all turns of phrase, be it the dull drone of history or the frantic fantasy he favored. He devoured them all, each word, each phrase, until he was familiar with the cycle.  The build, than plight, than flight, and after flight... triumph.

He waited breathlessly for these forces to pick him up, sweep him along.

Because that’s what happened to heroes in stories.

And while there was plight, everything else lacked. It was coming out all wrong, and while he could contribute, he dreamt of running, seeking those things he didn’t have, shouldn’t have, so in the end he didn’t.

Short legs weren’t meant for running… and that look in Mother’s eyes when he spoke of running.  He’d done something wrong there, so he didn’t speak again, and for that she smiled. She loved his silence, and his hair, both were soft, the later stroked.

So he leaned into her touch and let the wonder of the moment catch in his eyes.

Not that she noticed.

Not that she could red.

Most couldn’t… despite literacy being mandatory.. most couldn’t read.  They couldn’t read silence, they couldn’t read emotions save the most blatant and base, they scarcely noticed the turn of seasons, the pull of time, the changes both inflicted.

He did, would.  Spent one whole year patiently noting and noticing the littlest of things.  A patch of grass, not far from home, green and vibrant.  He’d scraped up munny, bought an empty folder half its pages torn, and amongst the whole and the fragments noted.  He noted everything.  Blades and types (there were two, a quick trip to the library gifted him long names, but space was precious so he only noted it once) and angles.

One day he’d skipped classes to see if the blades could shift, could be seen to shift under the slow arch of the sun. That had taken patience, and some ingenuity.  With strings and twigs –he later pared down, smoothed of any bark and knobs by nails and nips – he managed a scale of sorts.  Wetting the tips ever so, he set the white string about and around, a net of sorts, save it wasn’t to support.  It was supported by the makeshift poles until it ghosted over and under and about the tips and edges, all without touching.

Well except that one span, that he couldn’t get quite right…

With wide eyes he’d waited.  The water had weighed things down a bit, his enthusiasm made a sopping mess out of one corner, but the rest.  The rest he watched.  And when the watching was done and the notes taken (not quite inconclusive, they’d but under the drops and straightened upon drying and some of the angles were different than before… and there were water traces to track that… which all meant  something he was sure) he’d packed up to go.  Go where... he wasn’t sure.

 But people went when they got their notes.

To others, to report he supposed.  Having no one to report too made that a bit of a puzzle.

Mother wasn’t home, father was, and his teachers were in their classes with people that he didn’t know despite going to school with them for who knew how long.

So, early than normal he trooped into the library.  The grit on his faded pants inspired him, so he bustled to the desk with his usual enthusiasm.

The woman who was normally there was only half tucked about her desk, and she was facing wrong way about. She was a soft looking person, all round and smiling, smiling her widest when she saw him.  Smile warred with something unfathomable some days –like today-, but the warm –as always- won out against that touch of bleakness.

Glad, because he didn’t like bleakness, it smelled so bitter, the boy smiled back.

“So early,” Facing him, the person she was speaking to before eased back. She was a big woman and all round and she often forgotten the roundness when enthusiastic.

And she was always enthusiastic to see him.

That brought a curl of warmth in his chest and he almost spoke, but remembered last second he wasn’t supposed to (Mother loved him best when he was quiet) so he didn’t.

A small thud cut her off from babbling in concern.  Her babble was the only thing that could sometimes get him to talk, if only a little, despite talking being _bad_. She looked in concern, and was facing wrong way about so he couldn’t see it.

So he guessed instead what it looked like and wondered how had he’d have to trip (but not too hard, least he tear and blur the seeing) to have that look put upon him.

It might be funny.

That’s when he saw the man. He was all tall and pale wearing a white flowing coat that in the barest breeze surely would of flapped him off to who knew where.  His hair was blond, and hung down his neck and back in a pale scraggly sort of way that might have been linked to the sour, sweet, mix mash of a miasma that hung off his frame and screamed “chemicals” and not the school cleaning ladies type.

“I’m fine I’m fine…  No need to fuss so.”  Long fingered hands waved about in a shooing way that seemed stupid.

Ms. Patricia was a nice woman, all round and warm and touchy and that wasn’t bad.  Sort of nice, especially on cold days when the other boy’s had shoved snow down his shirt and laughed when he hopped about and howled.

“Just the…”  He was cornered, the hands set on his shoulder, trapped then, hugged shortly after, the tall man in white resigned himself to the embrace with a sigh. “Bumped my leg, is all.”

It was good he hadn’t said why.

Because then Ms. Patricia would have been made to feel bad.

And he would have had to kick the bad man.

After all, bad men got bad things happening to them in all the stories. And he wasn’t big enough to reach the top shelf in the library much less use a sword like a knight would have.

So kicking would have had to do for now.

If he want’ to be a knight as well, he wasn’t decided, not yet.

“Well Mr. Eis’Ulfur…”

“Even, please, madam…”

Seeing the adults being stupid, she’d let him go, the man was reddening fast,( and weren’t they done yet!) the boy shuffled about.  Maybe he could, should, just go and look up what he wanted to.  She’d be here, a glance at the round clock over her desk told him she’d be here for another hour at least and he could show her all her hard worth then…  But then they were done, and he was wiggling by, and she looked sorta hurt at that.  Then the man was out from behind the desk and the wall and the boy considered just how hard he should kick.  And where.

And that’s when everything changed.

After the squirm and settling of his coat, one corner was charred and bitterer than the rest, so much so he wrinkled his nose.  Face saying “Yuck!” the man blinked at the vehement expression, then following the child’s look smiled.

“I am sorry, young man, you look like you needed help and this little… ah drama… surely wasn’t helping.  How may I assist you?”

To that the boy blinked, looked past the man to Ms. Patricia’s broad face.  She smiled, though the texture of it was a mite different than all the others.

“Even’s… here to help.”  The librarian murmured, not quite meeting the boy’s eyes. “And if you talk in a whisper no one will hear, so you won’t get in trouble. As for what I hear… well I shant tell your mother.”

In the face of someone who understood, who wouldn’t tell, the boy was distracted enough from the bad bitter smells to grin.  Grin and meet those familiar brown eyes that had watched over him for weeks and weeks, since forever…

“Alright.”

A whisper, but it was consent, and more noise than he normally made.

Green eyes flicked, to brown, to his, than back again.

“And what are we looking for?” Even drawled in that tone all adults, from teachers on down, had used upon him for Light only knew how long.

Ms. Patricia winced, even as he grimaced, flinched back from the overpowering _stupidity_ of that cheery tone.  Before he could shut the man out entirely, shut him out so he wasn’t in his mind therefore he wasn’t there, the motion jarred some dirt from his pants. And that reminded and rooted him.

“Dirt.”

“Dirt?  What for?”

“Research.”  He nodded to the notebook tucked under his arm, its spirals partially uncoiled, it’s pages flowed and locked mid motion by sweet and pressure from long ago.  Still, to the man’s credit, he didn’t sneer, or ask to see the book. “Structure.”

And that regard, that had been scant and waning was raised by the man’s query of;

“Hmm… molecular, compound, or the layering thereof and it’s applications?”

“All.”

And where all the others had said “Oh aren’t you ambitious” and then set him on his way to the child’s sections to look at picture books and the like, the man raised an eyebrow.

“May I recommend compound first, if it doesn’t help you understand your efforts further than the other two could be pursued…”  And wonders of wonder, he _read_ the quiet, the look, and answered the unspoken. “It’s the most… beginner friendly and doesn’t require previous knowledge or aside research to fully understand and apply.”

Consideration, a nod, and to that nod the man began to lead the way to the adult section.  Bypassing the bright allure of the children’s section without a wondering glance and look that would say “why aren’t you there” before carrying on under Ms. Patricia’s glare.  Because Ms. Patricia understood, was nice like that even if she couldn’t read right.

Perhaps it was accident, but the man only tucked one hand in his pocket, the other hung limp and loose.  But the as the boy trailed behind he indulged a whim and reached up.  Reached and grabbed what wasn’t really offered.

And the man hopped at that, hopped and glared down.

“Let go you little… boy.”  One shake, rather ineffective really.

Thinking this was better than kicking, the boy grinned up at the man.

“No.”

A sigh.  “And what’s your name... brat?”

“Ienzo.”

And since he was aware that the child had already heard _his_ name, and he wasn’t one to repeat himself, Even sighed.

Thus they carried on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even’s last name, since none in canon is offered I put together a mix mash of languages. Eis is ice in German and Ulfur (sans the odd dash over the u as I don’t know how to make it appear in this word program), is wolf in Iceland… both words were jammed together and I couldn’t resist throwing in the Iceland word because well… Even’s element and all that.


	3. A sample

Society’s Norms

Chapter 3

A sample

 

Even became a mainstay.  A library regular.

And in a library with only four regulars the addition of a fifth was something to note.

He wasn’t like that lonely thing, that cringed and whimpered at the desk for attention and acknowledgement in the morning hours.  He wasn’t like the homeless thing, all scuffled and smelly, who simply lingered to linger in distant corners who reeked of shame. He wasn’t like that pseudo intellectual, forever locked in step, post college yet not quite ready to make their mark on the real, thus they lingered among the false, sipping cappuccinos and making airy chatter about things of import that weren’t, not really.

He wasn’t like Ienzo, number four (irony that, sickening later) who lingered to linger, sought things he thought were of import, and wasn’t above a bit of whining to get attention from the front desk (but only when he needed something from the top shelf, only then).

He was like any of them, none of them, at all.

Tucked in the corner, behind a chair, prowling the shelves.  They didn’t always talk, didn’t always speak.  But whenever Ienzo was there Even was. Prowling the edges of each other’s lives, all unknowingly. Maybe.  Those green eyes flicked to him, lingered too long, too often, for it all to be chance.  Still, Ienzo didn’t care.  Setting books besides, above, all around his efforts, he flipped through pages, and found diagrams that other’s made.

He wouldn’t copy, only stare and stare and try to memorize because he didn’t have pages to spare.  Only fragments now, and keeping it all in his head was getting harder and harder.

Setting his head on the table, risky considering he was perched on two books to make the chair’s height just right, he moaned.  It was soft, the sound, his crossed arms were all itchy and sunburnt.

He’d skipped school again, had a note to take home because he’d skipped, been caught, then slipped out again only to be caught at the scene of the crime.   The whole affair was unbecoming for a cunning boy but…

 _But_ he’d wanted samples, taken a few soil samples and spaced his taking throughout the day in different places because you couldn’t take form the same place twice at different times because taking meant there was less and he’d wanted the same soil at different times to see if it was different and…

And it had made more sense before standing out in the sun for _hours._

Really it did.

Hot and itchy and having a note for being bad and trying to tell himself he didn’t care (because they wouldn’t so why should he) he tried to look studious, really he did.  Because people who learned had to look studious, because that’s how it went. And they didn’t sniffle, or cry, because the day had been bad, and it had been hot, and bright, and… And he sniffled despite all the supposed-to’s.  Tried not to cry, and lost that too.

Maybe he was bad after all…

The only good out of it was that it was into his folded arms and no one could see.  Ms. Patricia was gone today (had an off day, had been sick two days before that too, so her being gone wasn’t much a surprise) and the what’s his name behind the counter didn’t care, and no one liked this part of the library, all dark and gloomy…

It was perfect for study, for solitude.

Because it had been a bad day…

He just wished he wasn’t right all the time, not like this.

Cries became sobs, muffled as he bit his arm to be too loud.  Not hard, kinda gumming because he was missing a few teeth, but that worked to quiet even if the taste was awful.

It had been an awful day, all around, so it matched too.

A _thunk_ , jarred him.  The sound was nestled between pagers and books, papers and swindled pencils, and the finality of it made him look up.  Blurry white, a few blinks later and it all resolved into the harsh lines and white attire that was familiar.  That was Even.  Even who he hadn’t seen coming in.  Who’d been there (because he was always there) but who surely hadn’t seen anything.

Except the _thunk_ had been a bottle being put down, all plastic and clear but not dripping along the sides.  No there was frost along the sides and near no-color flecks drifting along the water’s surface. 

Their eyes met, then a nod to serve as salutation, and then Even was gone in a swirl of white lab coat and preoccupation.

Gone, after leaving a water bottle behind, cap thoughtfully left open.

Curious, he indulged a sip, and found that before swallowing he had to chew a bit.  Least the skin of ice make him cough.  Still the cold of it was nice, if bitey. But he didn’t mind bitey, it let him bite back, and that was very nice.  Especially after a bad day.

The scrape of chair, the return of bitter, thus the encroachment began.  Even returned in stages.  First scrape, and chair, than pages and paper, last books.  It was all very neat, and he watched the spread with interest as it happened across form him.

And he regarded the books with envy, they were so thick that their spines surly ached simply for being opened to their fullest.  Still a glimpse at the titles and those stretched spines was enough to confirm he’d never see them again.

No library guild sigil anointed their backs. Still his gaze lingered, and there was wistfulness to the sigh he indulged.

“Still studying soil?”

To the oddness of it all, to the lack of “are you alright” and “how was your day” and “good (insert inaccurate time assessment here)” and all the other trivialities he was used to hearing, the question (though mundane) was quite refreshing.  He nodded, as much as he could.  With his chin set on his crossed arms it wasn’t much.

“Taking a crack at structure, still? I figured you would have finished it by now.”

“I…. spent a little time studying the local geography.”  It came out in a whispered rush.  “Then I lost my notes, and had to get them back.  It… put a stop to my studying for a while.”

“Hmmm.”  Green eyes thinned, flicked over notes and pages as if double checking that all was in place. Then the man was sitting, idly moving his coat just-so to prevent wrinkles and catching. “Yes… a lack of… peer approval can make things difficult.”

He almost asked.  Even’s tone was so… heavy, thick, there and not. Still Ienzo held to his quiet, it wasn’t best to ask questions, he’d learned that the hard way.  So he didn’t, despite the invitation to the tone.  Silence fell, then was broken when the man opened one folder, papers and lines, all blank, the headings were obscured by a line of sticky notes of all things.

“You know... I’m studying something on a rather small scale, and I was wondering… might we share observations?”

The blank look Ienzo shot up at the blond man caused the elder’s lip to peel back in a sneering smile.

“ _Study buddies_ , I suppose that’s what children would call it?”

“Partners.”  Ienzo corrected softly, volume leached by the ever so soft growl to the man’s voice.

To that the elder raised an eyebrow.  “Surprising, considering the social ramifications.”

To that the younger raised his eyebrow, and to that the elder lost some of his scorn.  He exchanged scorn for pain and the exchange though soundless was not without visual signs. When at last the silence stretched and stretched until it surly would strangle them both, it fell under a whisper. 

“I… don’t believe it politic for me to elaborate.”

“Alright… sorry…”

Even coughed, clearly the discomfort was somewhat choking from higher up.  “For what?”

And to that reasonable query Ienzo could think of nothing to say.

“So… Soil was it?”

“Why?”

“I was going to ask you that actually.”  The man in white drawled, hands flicking his pen open and a few scratches in an unused corner confirmed it was working.  Satisfied it drifted down, filling black lines with black print that was illegible when viewed upside down and likely became less legible when seen right side up.

“Why are you helping me?”

The pen stopped, clearly it was a good one, because it didn’t spurt and pool ruining the span about it in stillness.

“Just because.”

A snort and glare was more than rely to that.

“Because… my lab partners… they don’t like me.  Don’t like that I am working on something small… So they trashed my lab, the immature pack and well… I packed up, worked here, and found another project smaller than the last.  They’d disapprove, but so as long as it’s feasible… I’ll work here. ”

The reasons were familiar, though he didn’t have… but he wanted… in the tangle of thought and wonder and a touch of despair (weren’t adults _supposed_ to be nicer than the kids who trashed his experiments, wasn’t there a rule?) Ienzo latched onto one thought.

“You have a lab?”

A slow nod, perhaps a lip quirked in a smile.  “I do.  And it’s not child safe, so no, you can’t see it.”

Disappointment, nearly tears, biting his lips so nearly wouldn’t _become_   he swallowed something thick and bitter.

“I might deign, to say, _take a sample to the lab_ … but only if my lab partner were to provide a sample for me to take.”

He’d been digging in the dirt, scrawling notes, maybe, his pants were dirty... maybe…  Looking up, even as the man looked down, their eyes met and when Ienzo hopped out of his chair bubbling with explanation, nearly running in circles from the excitement of it all Even laughed.  Laughed so loud that the librarian hissed a hush at him and the man hadn’t cared a lick.

It took effort to stay still, to allow Even to scrape at his knees with a white swab or five.  Dirt and grass stain juices, Even had announced with a shrug, and though impure...

“Sorting through the types and of the debris is a challenge, one I’d appreciate, it makes the efforts less plodding.”

“Th..thank you..”

“No,” With a grin that was something like his laughter, all brittle and cracked, the man replied.  “Thank _you_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: A bit of this chapter was inspired by a fanfiction dot net author, Raberba Girl, and her story “Studied Sketches”


	4. Small Miracle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another, one of many, encounters of the library.

Society’s Norms

Chapter 4

Small Miracle

 

Fingers sticky from the residue of labels he set down his latest work.  Beakers hardly chinked as he slipped them in their proper receptacles, but that was expected.  He was careful, ever so careful as the mix of the sample in vial 5a0012 would vaporize in a corrosive mist if it encountered the molecularly altered diamond particles on the sample slide to its right. 

Hmmm… perhaps some distance would be prudent. 

He pulled the plate with its attendant imbedded slides from its hangings on the wall, lay it on the nearest stainless steel table (always empty that one) and considered what to put in the blankness’ place.

“Keepin’ busy?”

To that bit of stupidity, he invoked willing ignorance, also known as toning out the intruder who would be skating out if he didn’t go away.  Or sliding out on his ass, it all depended on how annoying the intruder decided to be.

“Soo…”  Drifting close, far too close, e _ntering_ was too close, Even whirled about, lips pealed back in a soundless snarl.  The temperature of the room plummeted, causing the intruder to widen his one eye and shudder. Even waited, still, silent, willing the man to be gone. Then, remembering matters of violate substance, and how freezing could make things worse he pulled back the cold.  Called it back so that only one breath had steamed.

The rush of head was nauseating, the encroachment of warmth as unwelcome as the one eyed brigand before him.

“What’s his Highny gotcha doin’?”

The one-eyed, disrespectful, persistent, brigand.

“Work.”

“Outside the labs, you?  You’ve been gone weeks Ev’, seriously, what gives?”

“Work.”

To that evasion,  and repetition, Braig snarled something about stick up the asses, and old bastards, before storming out.

It wasn’t the first, was the last, they’d all nattered and whined at him.  Like dogs scenting a tidbit, they smelled a secret, and wanted, and pawed, and whimpered.  As if he were a kindly master inclined to give a treat.

Not to mere beggaring.

Foot falls, sans silence, Even whirled back to face the wall, well aware of the broad shadow that surly blotted out the door.  Still he ignored, pretended, and fussed over blankness knowing that he was giving tells but unable to stop himself from doing so.

“Moving things around?  Rumbled the familiar voice, though it was an intruder he spared the younger man the bite of his displeasure.

“It amuses me.”

Indulging a chuckle the larger man broke off the sound, then after a moment’s thought there came the creek of something being lifted.  Little tells gave it away, though the glass couldn’t rattle, nails could scrape along the metallic plate when it was turned right side up.

“Here.”

“I was going to move that, you simpleton!”

“And the whole wall with it?”  Came the placid rebuttal.  “You placed it there, despite it being near the acid case because both need to be nailed to the stud of the wall.  Anything else is too susceptible to being jarred loose during the wear and tear of existing in your lab.”

Silence, face feeling hot, Even coughed.

“I… remembered that.”

In the following quiet Even’s ears were surly scarlet as he wavered between frustration, embarrassment, and chagrin. Setting the displaced back on the table the younger scientist considered… something.

Then, like the other before him, the other from the day before, he indulged a rush of words.

“You’ve a package of labels, Braig got to them first, you’ll probably want to order more.”  The brunet warned.  Then turning, hardly soundless, foot falls heavy as the man was massive so it logically could be no other way, Aeleus drifted out.  Well lumbered, but still.

Before he left, recalling his manners as the door surely closed, Even opened his mouth, forced a gratuity out.  And because the door was closing he wasn’t sure, but maybe, just maybe, Aeleus the Stone Hearted had cracked a smile.

XXX

They shared books now,  books and notes upon plants and dirt.  Though painfully elementary sounding there was more, so much more than the mundane which the masses surly recalled form school days long ago. The whole “plants ate light and made air, plants needed to be watered, plants had roots and partook of the soil.” was _so_ base, it was insulting.  No there were formula, differing photosynthesis, different forms of nutrient partaking, diffing nutrients, then of course the ecology, micro to macro, the boy nearly cried in happiness for being able to see pictures, actually _proof_ , of the microorganisms that were only passingly mentioned in the public library’s resources.

He’d opened up some then. Admitted in a shamed rush that his school didn’t have microscopes and they had some books, but not many, and there weren’t many here…

To the last, Even was ever the scientist, had tested the grounds himself. He had found the results very lacking. He’d brought a sizable selection from his own private notes to the child.  They’d spent a day skimming over wonders… well wonders for the child, hardly a wonder for him considering he looked through a microscope every day for hours at a time.  Still the slides had invoked noises of awe so charming he’d willingly suspended the days… well classes it wasn’t.  They both were learning after all…

Perhaps it best be called their pursuit of the original goal.  Though it sounded rather… clunky to his inner narrative it… was serviceable, somewhat.  So they carried on, in their research of the ins and outs of a patch of grass.

Though the child hadn’t said as much, he hadn’t had to.  The results of the sampling had revealed much, and neither spoke of revelation.  Not yet, not this soon.

So the boy merrily studied and was in turn studied… and if those curious glimpses Even caught cast his way meant anything, the elder knew this child wasn’t oblivious.

Clearly the boy didn’t think that it was time for questions, save that related to the topic at hand, so Even didn’t push.

Not yet.

As had become his habit he shared water bottles and after the response of a quiet query spread out the remnants of his lunch between the two of them.  A mere snack for the adult, but the way the boy ate confirmed the reprehensible.

Really, stealing lunch money…  So trite but it happened, still happened.

So much for the social wellbeing and good civilian prerogative laws and programs supposedly in effect.  It was more like ineffective than anything else.

To the bitter smile that thought summoned Ienzo looked up from his snack of apple slices.  There was something of fear to the look, understandable… considering the gash on his forehead head and the blackening around one eye it was understandable that he would know of fear.  The lack of cleaning, of tending before this moment… spoke of something worse than fear.

“Pass me a clean napkin please.”

The boy started, as he always did with pleasantries put his way, but compiled with that familiar silence.

Under the gaze of those blue eyes he neatly folded then soaked one napkin, a murmured syllable, near endearment in tone, and it froze.  The innermost folds, mind, he had enough control for that.  The outer he left chill but not frozen, not liking the wetness to the whole he took the napkin from his lap and wrapped up his effort and then passed it to the child.

Damning was the blank look, the shock, that was cast first to the impromptu cool pad then to the man who’d offered it.

“For your eye,” Even drawled “I’d hate you to lose the ability to read properly due to some brute’s efforts.”

“Why?”  The silence was broke by that query, though the boy had, after some fumbling, set it above the bruising.

 “I don’t repeat myself.”

The glare warned that the child didn’t either.

“Now,” a sip, some chewing, but he liked his water that way no matter the season,  “-you asked after why there were protein mixed in with your dirt samples. Initially I thought they might have been say… worm bits, but you said you didn’t dig deep enough to unearth any of the more common species of earthworm found on this part of Radiant and the scans I ran debunked that theory, confir-  _Don’t_ glare at me like that, brat, there are microscopic worms -mainly parasites- that could  
have been there.  So that leaves us at that oh-so-wonderful question that we aren’t obviously repeating for argument’s sake.”

“Mmph!”

“Don’t speak with your mouth full, and do towel the dripage before it falls onto the papers.”

Once sure he was obeyed, the white clad elder sighed.  Dabbing up some of what Ienzo missed with a sleeve.  Really, _children_ , still…  He was used to it, this part of his job.  Once the swallowing was complete, the elder waited, the flush and remorseful expression cast his way made the older man sigh.

“It’s fine, don’t debase yourself with some overblown show of remorse, it’ll be the ruin of your clothes, good looks, and the sacred silence of the library…  Which we are debasing simply by talking… _whatever_ shall we do, us scoundrels, we be.”

“Misquote.”  Came the whispered rebuttal.

The child insisted in whispering in the building despite Even’s fine example of how to speak lowly so not to draw the curious ear over.  Or the wrathful one.  Even the overly gregarious Ms. Patricia had had his hide a few times when he’d cackled and “scared the children”.

“Indeed, by _one_ word.  I’m sure I’ll be properly punishment in the next life, until then…  What are your thoughts, of protein and the like?”

Because if he didn’t specify the brat would natter on about the misquote. Endlessly.

“Can I se the slides, of that the sample looked like before you started filtering.”

A pause, no passing took place, then, remembering, Ienzo murmured.

“Please?”

“Yes, you may, and you are welcome by the way…”

Because the boy had forgotten to thank, but that look of joy made it excusable, just this once.  Not that the child had heard a word of it.  Observant, yes, a child still, somehow, someway, yes.

And that was a small miracle.  He’d ask for no more. 


	5. Reveleation part 1

Society’s Norms

Chapter five

Revelation

Laughter dimmed by distance and the impediment of matter caused the boy to look up.

Curious that.  Considering when the noisy expulsion of one of the library’s occupant a mere two tables away hadn’t been enough to cause the start.  A frown yes, but to actually look away…

Never mind the previous had been violent.  Spitting out profanities, a chess board sent flying at some games unsatisfactory conclusion, the other party yelling for the sore loser to calm down…

The child hadn’t look up.

Even had, had no choice that was. The rain of pieces post wall impact had fallen about his shoulders, thank you very much, and he’d sent a withering glare at the upstarts who’d dared be so rowdy.  The child at his side had ignored it all, only slowing in his page turning at one of Even’s particularly vicious profanities.

Had it been anyone there’d been a smug smirk, or wide eyes, or even the sick dread that came with knowing that despite all his efforts at teaching the child manners, that, oh look, the responsible party just taught an innocent a new swear word.  There was none of that, just the turning of pages.

So when he child had stood, chair scrabbling, all but darting to the nearest window, Even found himself up and following.

Another laugh, a familiar edge to it caused a queer lurch in his gut, and some instinct reared up, made him catch the child’s hand least he dart out the door, or window, or something equally foolish.

Beyond the glass, form made fantastic in twilights deepening gloom was a child.  Frame obscured by dark, dark clothes, and a bagginess that the masses thought appealing did much to hide the person’s gender.  The library was near a school and a so the sight of a child that wasn’t expected, see subject a holding his hand for case and point.  The subject beyond the glass was stooped over, scrambling about.  Glasses retrieved, the person stood, staggered past the library’s westward window and towards the street.  It was only a hiss beyond sight, but not beyond hearing, that told Even the rest.

A glimpse at the clock confirmed it.  Evening bus, pick up.  Broken glasses, sadists laugh…

Ever the same that.

The indignant tug at his hand made him look down.  Curious that a tug could be indignant, supposedly an impossibility that, but the expression was too busy being furious, the whole rather mute, so the left over sentiment had to be stashed somewhere.

“What would you have done, child, intervened?”

A tug and squirm made Even tighten his grip, rather than loosen.  A glare stilled the child’s attempts at thrashing.

“What would you have done?”  The scientist grated.

“More than you did.”  Came the hiss.

Green eyes thinned in more than just mere “distaste”.

“Or would you have been victim number two?  You’re... small” putting it nicely that, “bullies tend to be bigger than their victims, and that one was nearly my height, so logically, what help could you have provided?”

“You…”

He cut off that little explosion in the making with a sharp gesture and glare.

“There are cameras on the buildings, face identification, the brats parents will be billed the victim’s cost for glasses and the standard harassment fees. I’m sure the boy’s parent will straighten him out, and even if they don’t and another incident is recorded there will be repercussions.”

Wide eyes stared up at him, wondering, shocked.  To such a stark contrast from the boy’s normal stoic expression, Even tried a smile.  The shock increased tenfold, he was sure, no exact scale required.  Amusement was tempered with bitterness though. 

Not too many people kept abreast the technological initiatives that Radiant passed.  Though they were accessible in the public domain one so young, and not versed in legal clap trap, could be expected to know of it, or follow it if it had been known.

Two years, eight adult legality classes at two colleges, and Even _still_ had trouble following a few of its more convoluted sections.

A multitude of contradictions hadn’t helped much either, especially amongst the privacy law segments.

“It will be tended.”

“It’s not right.”  The boy traded shock and wonder and anger for a huff.  Loosening his grip a bit so it didn’t bite, the boy leaned against his elder with a wordless grumble.

“Well, that too.”  Even agreed softly, recalling his place and glad it was near closing thus there were fewer ears about to make irate by his candor. “There’s a fine line between justice and vengeance, vindication and mercy, and if there was a heaven only it’s keeper would know where or if a mind can even spot the lines anymore through the miasma of laws and protocol we call civilization.”

“What’s heaven?”

Panic, the only tell was a quickening of his pulse and a slight twitch of his hand.  The latter the boy noted, looking up at his elder with a wide eyed curiosity that would have been adorable.  If he liked children.

Which he didn’t, this was just a job, after all…

“I think… I would best leave that question in the purview of someone… more _wise_ than I.  Material wisdom is my forte… but that question knocks in the door of the celestial.”

 “Do wise people just walk through the door, when you need them to answer a question for you?”  The boy snapped, letting go of his hand, turning back to their table.

With good reason, the last.  A voice from up high, PDA speaker height to be exact, proclaimed the library to be closing in five minutes.  While hardly divine, it was a save.  Unwanted, but needed.

This was just a job, and in needs of his superiors, he asked the last.

“I’ve…”  _Not been wanting to say this_ , he so wanted to admit that truth, but orders were orders and form what he’d seen from the boy and what he knew from his contacts he had no choice.  He’d not mutely beg forgiveness, he wasn’t deserving it for this break of trust. “-been wanting to replicate your water experiment, the water and string dome… to gauge grass blade flexibility.  Perhaps we could meet here tomorrow and you could take me to the testing site?  I’ll bring the proper materials, of course.”

The boy stopped, back to him, posture stiff, surely shaken.

Obviously shaking.

“I never told you about-“

Too late the thought was halted.  Replaced by another.

“Why are you here?”

“My… department, you never asked.  You never asked after my superiors, or why a genisost  would be using a library in downtown Radiant when he had clearance to a lab, all labs and their resources being regulated by the crown, as you well know.  Certainly the facts aren’t that hard to put together.”  Even rebuked, almost tenderly.  Glad, and suspicious that the librarian, Ms. Patricia, was making herself so busy elsewhere, never mind it was five minutes and counting.

Privacy was best for this, a mercy of circumstance, that last sliver before…  Well there was no way he could tender his own.  Not here.  Not now.

“Why.”

_Why this, why now, I was happy when things were like they were before!_

Some things just didn’t have to be said.

Because revelation, though necessary, was cruel.

“When’s the last time you ate, a full meal, took a shower, slept on anything softer than the floor?”

“Why does it matter to you?”  Hurt anger, to that Even swallowed back a sick feeling.  The boy was facing him now, locks spiked by a racking hand, stuck in place by at least two days of not being washed.

Which, was an improvement considering he’d noted a week and a half being the usual between the boy’s baths.  Ms. Patricia’s observations had been added to his note, supported by the footage of the child from the cameras about the streets. The child’s washings had been sporadic, slowly steadying  as the time between their discourses grew tighter and the boy had thoughtfully done something about his smell to appease his… partners nose.

None of the child’s teachers had warranted such respect.

Only when the boy’s panting breathes slowed, and the frantic edge of his panic had dulled did Even dare to try to explain.

“Are you aware or the Radiant Garden Higher Education Initiative, or the Radiant Garden Healthcare Acts?  They… aren’t new… and are strictly enforced.  Those who fail to accommodate either… well there are investigations.”

A buzz, static’s crackle, one minute.

“Your parents are under investigation for mistreatment of a minor.”

Silence.  Then; “Why tell me?  Why not go through the guardsmen or… or something?”

“We make exceptions for the exceptional. And we can’t find your parents; they went missing when the guardsmen went to round them up.  For now, legally, since it’s innocent before guilty… we can do nothing.  But know that you are being watched… and if things get bad I want you to go to a guard.”

Closed, so went the voice, Patricia Myer rounded about a corner, approached the abandoned table and it’s notes.

“Best fetch that.”  Even noted, “keep mine for me, would you?  Until tomorrow.”

Though the last should have been a question, there was no arguing the warning of that glare.


	6. Chapter 6

Societies Norms

Chapter 6

Leaves in Corners

He’d run. Run and run until the familiar blurred and each breath was a red fire without flame.

Still it burned.

The door was open, the empty spaces about it, with their slit windows always shut, never broken, he hardly noticed the change.  Only when he was halfway in, the draft, the less must to the familiar air tight mustiness. Half in, half out, he stepped back, registering what his eyes told him.  Glints, sun catching jags in glass.  He stared first at the damage, then at the door that had eased more shut than open due to his absence.

The burning eased, eased out of his lungs, one push, a moment and it settled in his eyes.

Chaos had struck, spreading possessions all about. Books, few, his, were thrown, their pages shredded, mixing with clothes, smothered by thrown food, and a smattering of worldly goods.

Amongst the mess, like a living afterthought, were the leaves.  Fresh, green, newly fallen brought low by yesterday’s rain, they were tucked in the corners.  It had been a windy day, after all, a windy morning, a morning he’d mainly missed when he’d raced out.  Eager to be there, not here, wanting more than anything else to be gone…

Never knowing that where he began could become gone, that he could go back and there could be nothing.

Seeing everything, seeing nothing, he looked upon the remnants of the things that had been his, and theirs, and mothers, and fathers…

And realized there was nothing at all.

Just things and messes, and leaves stuffed in the corner by wind and whim.

XXX

The lights were out, the windows when not lit from within made the familiar shelves a blockish black mess. Cheap glass, Even had drawled, when they’d taken an “aside day” to study reflections.  Cheap glass makes for compromised reflections.  Above, one light gleamed, flickered, and while the library he haunted was not in the best part of Radiant it was in a good enough part that a faulty bulb was an oddity.

He could have gone anywhere.  He knew (and used last summer) the homeless shelter’s facilities inside and out.  If he hurried and walked a few miles he could nip into one of their shelters right before close.  One  half truth “No one was home, and I was locked out” would get him a room, not questions asked.

Oh there’d be efforts, to find his parents, to find who he was.  But he could simply act as shy as he felt.  They never pressed, never pressured.

Not when he looked so small, so vulnerable, a sheen of tears to his eyes and they’d fear he was broken already.  The motherly ones fell for it every time even if his own had… did… couldn’t ever notice...

But that would take walking, and effort, and his previous dash with its burning and aching had burned him all up.

So he first stood, until standing hurt, then he huddled, by the base of the nearest window.  Brick dug into his cheek as he tried, and failed, to hold onto the last familiar, friendly, thing.

The grass about his legs was softer, a rise really, blocked in and set with flowers about its edges to look pretty.  The raised flowerbed was just large enough he could lay on it like it was a real bed, his legs would crush some frilly purple thing, but he didn’t care.  Just closed his eyes and wished he was home.  With people who cared.  Not emptiness and messes that alluded to flight, and small disasters that hinted at a fight.

Footsteps almost made him sit up, but he’d been burned out, burned up, and wrung out. Burnt, wrung out ruins didn’t get up.  So he snuggled against soft grass and ignored the squiggle of curiosity about what type of grass and ecosystem his sprawl was surly straining.

“I thought I told you to get the guard, if something happened.”

To that familiar voice he scrunched his eyes tight, wished and willed and…

And the steps drew closer, part sound, part sense, told him Even was sitting close enough for kicking too.

“Go ‘way.”

“I’m not responsible for their decisions, or for their actions.”

So far was that from the expected “are you alright” “I’m sorry” or usual trivial things he expected other (kinder) people to say, Ienzo opened one blue eye.  The other was scrunched up against a press of hair and grass and saturated soil.

“Ah, awake at last and how does sleeping beauty fair?”

“She’s a girl!” Kick. Even winced though there was little force behind it. “I’m _not_.” Kick.

“Alright, excuse me for trying levity!” Even huffed, rubbing his side with a long fingered hand. Then, breaking the rules, because he never said those soft, kind, things, Even grumbled.  “Well enough?”

“What?”

“Are you well enough, considering?”

Silence, then a squirm that made Even set a hand protectively against his side.  But Ienzo wasn’t in the kicking frame of mind, just the leaning on one elbow so he wasn’t chewing on grass.  Sorta more comfortable, though he had to curl least he sprawl over Even, the boy considered the man.

Intuition, while hardly scientific, revealed one fact, one so startling the scruffy boy blurted it out.

“You’ve never… said anything like that before.  Have you?”

“Said what?”  Even grumbled, rubbing though it surly didn’t hurt.

“Anything… nice.”

Quiet, silence devoid of even rubbing, then at last, as if feeling towards the words, pitting truth against reluctance, the man spoke.  “I... It wasn’t encouraged during my upbringing, and I never met anyone worth trying to break my training for to indulge in… niceness.”

Another quiet, another silence as both thought their own thoughts.

“How’d you know?  Me, here, them, gone.”

It was a sign of how long they’d worked together that even was able to follow that, really it was.  And it was scary, in its own way. Scary because no one had been able to do that, not even the nicest people he’d ever known.

“I followed, remotely.  Got royal permission to use the TRON camera systems to “follow you home” as it were without the foot work.  Then, after a suitable span while you collected yourself I physically traveled from there to here. It was a long walk.”

The last was an idle complaint that really hadn’t mattered.  But Even tossed it out anyway, least the boy think he was soft.

“Why?”

“You’re breaking curfew, that’s unseemly.”

To that bit of insanity the boy laughed, laughed then choked than dissolved into crying.

“C..can’…can’t have… th.. tha…”

 Such a simple statement, beyond him in this hysteria.  He cried harder, and sometime in that crying he was scooped up by inexpert hands and pressed against the slender man’s side.  Wasn’t a hug, not really.  The hands were too cold, the arms tight and the man’s face stiff with distaste at the tears and mucus.

Still it was more than he’d ever got when he’d cried before by anyone else.  And the fingers that raked through his hair while nippy didn’t bite, or pull, or tug.

And there were no orders for silence.  COached in either affectionate disinterest or roaring bellows.

Only a swaying sort of cuddle that was a comfort to the desistated and obvious discomfort for the man giving offering it.

Still, discomfort aside, he didn’t let go, knew he was neede d and held on his tightest.

It would have to be enough, for now.


	7. Abandonment, abduction

Society’s Norms

Chapter 7

Abandonment, abduction; the measure the degree

He shammed sleep, sprawled and breathing slow and shallow least those “checking up” on him want to talk.

He didn’t want to talk.

Not to any of them.

So he lay still, and quiet. Voices murmured, the whole theme to it was “poor thing” the oldest, his voice deepest, had even said those words.  Word for word. It had taken effort not to snap at the hand that had run through his hair.  Effort not to bite, to kick, to scream, but he’d done it before.

So he stayed as he was meant to, still, and quiet.

It wasn’t as easy as all the other times though. Gun powder had tickled his nose, and the scent of crushed grass, and tilled earth, and the silences weren’t silence.  They talked above him. About him, never asking his opinion, only seeing the limp form and ascribing it to shock and sickness, never asking.

 And that was stupid.

 _They_ were stupid.

He wanted to scrunch up his face, scream at them to leave, but his latest visitors were talking, above him, not about, well sorta about so it was somewhat tolerable.

“Well…. He was left outside for Gaia knows how long.”  The one who smelled of grass, who was always moving, pacing back and forth the room, noted in that thick cloying tone the older one had used.

“Yes, and being left outside for two hours equates to a half days shock.”  Came the frigid rejoinder.

“They left, his family, that’d be a shock for any little thing like this…”

“Dilan, he’s little, not weak, not stupid, keep that information to the fore of your thoughts.”  The other, familiar, snapped.  His tone was as compassionate as ice snapping, and just as biting. “Furthermore, if you could please retrieve Ansem, the boy’s awake.”

Silence, charged with shock.

“Wh-“

“He is awake.  And has likely been awake for most of the day. Now leave and bring his majesty if you would.”

A door opened, closed, the scent of crushed grass receded and the chill that had been masked by acids and the like remained. Steps approached, stubbornly keeping his eyes closed he pretended the other person wasn’t there.

“None of that.”  A cold hand shook his shoulders.  Rolled him just so.  At the soft snarl that move summoned the older chuckled.  “Act like furniture and expect to be treated as such.”  Then the fast becoming familiar weight settled on the edge of the bed sucking out the warmth of the bed’s edge.

“Very mature that, playing possum. Did you want to perhaps hide under the bed too, or would you rather do something more base, like play dead?”

That was prod enough, he rose with a huff, peeling off the blankets that had been tucked about his shoulders and sides with a growl.  Said hostility was severely dampened by several things happening at once.  First, moving hurt, taking the bite out his anger, two… two he had to go.  And go bad.

Thin lips quirking into a smile, the scraggly blonde snorted.  “Bathrooms the door to the left.”

He didn’t have time for gratitude, like “thank you”, and he wasn’t in the mood for such. So he bolted, slamming the door behind him in a malicious afterthought.

After all, after thoughts were after thought, and he’d had plenty of time for thought between bed and door. It didn’t make them good thoughts, or kind.

But Even never expected kindness, he found malice amusing so smally packaged.

And expressed both sentiments with his crackling laughter.

XXX

He expected awe, demanded it in quiet little ways.  Perhaps it was by dressing so elegantly, with a flowing cape tossed over one shoulder, like the gladiators from the mysterious “Grecian Papers” professor Herm* had written about.  Discredited as fantasy, a mad fantasy by the most vicious detractors, the arguments against it were sentimental and therefore easily for the discerning to dismiss. For how could a people be so violent as to make sport of death, and contests of strength, easily, mix part malice part propaganda and it was done.  Still, stigma to his works aside, some of the styles had sunk in. Champions work capes; warriors slung them over one shoulder, letting the fabric flow freer to enrage wild boar and bull to charge.  The bravest took on such wild beasts, the strongest survived, so for one who wore such a fabric freed so freely.

It said much.

Yet, a fuller glance past the crimson fabric said more. The shiny boots, a villainous black, and a belt buckled with gold, a rich man’s folly of both one-upmanship and avarice did much to undermine the heroic pose.

To that his lips quirked, even as his sole visible blue eye scrolled up.  Taking in features and their slant (minimal there, rather boxish truth be told) and the man’s large but not beaky nose.

Speaking of noses the boy wrinkled his, scenting artifice and sweet.

As did Even, though tucked into a corner nearest to the door, the younger man (younger when compared to the broad shoulders silvering man before the boy) barely seemed contained after bing put in his place with a absent hand wave.  His expression of “ick too sweet!” almost summoned a smile.

Had things been better, had this silk shirted, silk panted man had strutted through the library doors, ghosted by all wrapped up in preoccupation like so many had, he could have… _would_ have spared a glance up and at his lab partner.  They’d of spared a grimace, a smirk, and then gotten to important matters of study.

But it wasn’t there, they were here, and Even was tucked in a corner like some unwanted half recalled nick-a-nack.

“Well young man, and how do you find your accommodations?”

He’d half listened, through prattle, about how this was his place, and how special he was, and wasn’t this better than before?  And while the man had spoken he had checked on little things he hadn’t noticed before.  Like how he wasn’t in his old clothes, he’d half guessed that.  Between irritation and ire he’d recognized that he was in stuff softer, and not faded soft, than his usual but he’d never noticed how different.  Wondering hands, hidden as fidgeting, had confirmed it was new.  All of it.

  “Well?”

He added attention hound to the man’s list of faults, and considered, just for a little looking beyond the man. Just a bit beyond and above, to see if he was smart enough to realize…

But motion for the corner, from by the door stilled that experiment.

A head shake, one that the richly dressed man noticed, because he turned away to his… partner.  Certainly not Ienzo’s partner. It was odd to think of the rich man and the slender white coated man as anything like partners, or friends, or even sharing notes was weird.  Still the older noted what the younger was doing, and with a look asked.

“Oh, you know your majesty, long hair and all that, tickles the ears…”

And was just as stupid as all the others, because he bought that line.  Bought the lie.

But not Ienzo, Even’s glare reinforced the head shake, telling him mutely to behave, as best as he could.  Then the older man, blue eyes glimmering, expression as soft as softness could get (so soft that it was a wonder his whole face just didn’t crumble off) pressed for a reaction one final time.

“Child?”

To that Ienzo lifted his hands, flicked his fingers, hands nearly flying, he spoke without words.

“Even?”  The older asked.  “I wasn’t aware he was deaf…”

“He isn’t,” Even informed his liege, “ _mute_ that is.  Or deaf.  He just doesn’t want to speak with you right now.  Resentment I suppose.”

A snappish gesture, not _quite_ universal, but the scowl and the wave towards the corner told one and all who it was meant for.

“Insolent.”  Came the chill deduction.  “Furious.  And use language like that against me young man and you’ll be in for a _very_ cold spell.”

“Even…”  Groaned the king, of Radiant, of home, of all as far as Ienzo knew.  Radiant was the world.

He just didn’t feel like shining, well shining the baser parts of his vocabulary perhaps and throwing them about…

Even’s glare stopped those plans cold.

“I didn’t agree to this, so spare me your preadolescent rebellions.”  Even snarled.  “Had I any say…”

“Which you _don’t_.”  The king rumbled.  “Child, this is for the best, you are special, unique, you could have been hurt, the place you lived was unfitting of someone of your potential and...”

“Was home, familiar, and ripping him from both was _so_ wis-“

“Even!”

“It isn’t.  _Wasn’t_.”  Even snapped the correction, but he crept back under his king’s ire, a step to counter the two he’d paced out from his corner while talking.

“They aren’t.”  Ienzo whispered.

Even and King, both paused, recalling him.  Or rather the King recalled him, turned to him, Even only nodded.  Granting the permission he knew the child would unconsciously seek all without a word.

“They aren’t. Accommodating.  Mine.  Home.”

To such flat refusal of a gift so grandly given, the king was flabbergasted.  But only for a moment.  Then the shadow passed, and assurance blazed forth banishing any doubt.

“This is for the best, in time you’ll see.  It’s all strange and new, but it is for the best.”

Then he was gone, to see to greater things.  For a moment the King’s man lingered, half in his place, half not.  One shuffle, a step that screamed discomfort when compiled with the curiously expressionless expression, then the man turned away.

“I’d of found a better way.”

To that announcement, not cloying and sweet as the people’s before, only stark and brittle.  Fact stripped of sentiment, never mind the moment was ripe with the potential for emoting.

To the roundabout contradiction Ienzo offered a skeptical silence.

It was more than he would have given to any who spoke of kindness, he’d of ignored any other sentiment.  And since he wasn’t ignoring he noticed the little things.  The lack of bitter, the hint of a frigid crispness seeping out of the man’s pores, a click...

A click, knob’s turning, leaving’s start.  That jarred some words out of Ienzo’s mouth.

“Abduction is a crime.”

“So is abandonment.”

“They never where there, so it wasn’t abandon-” then in the span between opening and closing. He forced out the last in a fluttering rush.  “Imprisonments’ a crime too.”

“It is, isn’t it? So’s running away, keep that to the fore of your thoughts, child.”

When the door closed there was no snick of a lock, no creek of a latch.  Footsteps receded, winter retreated, and basking in the warmth that soothed the prickles he hadn’t noticed forming on his arms Ienzo realized the impossible. Even was gone.

And the door was all but open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "Greek papers" by Herm. was a a bit of a joke. Hermes is the messenger god, and if the Gods of Hercules pantheon wanted to be knonw and their heros known of.. well who better to pen such a tale...


	8. Hands on/off

Societies Norms

Chapter 8

Hands on, Hand off

Things hadn’t gone as planned.  No, the thinker of this plan had wanted the affair to be very “hands on” and as such had nipped in with breakfast.

Not that he’d carried said breakfast.

No, nameless servants had set up a folding table, had first hooked to up to the foot rest, murmuring soft “excuse us young master” when he’d hopped back at the intrusion of his space.  Still he watched them unfold three legs, and set plates and bowls in place until the wooden span was nearly overflowing with edibles.  They left with a bow, closing the door behind them, and the king pulled a chair (all plushy and large) right up against the attached table.  A nod, and he was given permission to come closer.

For a moment he hesitated, idle spite made him want to kick out at the table, spill its content all over the man’s lap, and the floor, but the grumbles of his belly coaxed him to behave.

So with a glance at the corner, never mind it wasn’t occupied, he crept forward.  The spread consisted of more food than he’d seen, ever.  There was oatmeal and fruit, and toast, the first was sweetened to a dull brown due to brown sugar, the middle was simply cloyingly sweet by natural selection, and the last was soggy with butter and jam.

He settled for some grapes and apple slices.

His majesty tore… well it didn’t tear, just oozed… hmmm he tucked into the toast.  Chatting about what they’d see and do.  This was his home after all, and he’d need to be shown about, adjust, see the sites, learn to love it…

It took effort not to kick the table, a lot of effort.  He reached for another apple slice, nibbled and nipped while the King carried on.

“And Braig loves children, we’ll catch up with him after the basic tour and he can spend the day with you.”

Translation, babysitter, Braig was a babysitter.

“Any questions?”

 Not that he had any… Still, why not. A few gestures were enough to convey his thoughts, and when the man didn’t respond to those save with benign befuddlement Ienzo tipped his head to the corner and frowned.

The fake shiver and teeth chatter followed by a tip of the head answered the man’s bafflement.

“Oh.. Even… He’s very busy today.  Furthermore it would be unsuitable for a child your age to become associated with someone like Even.”  To the slight scowl that brought on the King smiled.  “He’s not a bad man, but he has unsavory habits, ones that you should not be exposed to least you become… contaminated.  You are familiar with contamination, aren’t you?”

He nodded to say he was familiar with the _idea_ of contamination.  It lead to complications, or so Even had warned.  Especially concerning slides, and samples, in worse case scenarios things that were contaminated had to be disposed and fresh samples gathered.

But this was true only in the touchiest of experiments. 

Impure samples could also be thought of as compounds, could tell more than one element isolated, and being able to distinguish between two forms of matter could also prove interesting, to results and as entertainment.

“Ienzo?”

Clearly he’d been lost in thought too long.  The boy nodded to indicate his understanding.  And there was relief to the King’s sigh, relief in an explanation evaded.

“Clean up then, we need to go.”

To that the child slipped out of the bed, shuffled his bare feet on the wood floor, and waited.  Waited while the king waited.  It was a standoff in all senses of the word; save that one half of the process didn’t understand what was going on.

“Well little one, shouldn’t you be off.”  A wave towards the bathroom said where, but he was short, could overlook something happening so high above his head.

So without further ado he slipped past the king, to the door and opened it.  Unlocked, it’d been unlocked; the servants coming had confirmed it, as his going reaffirmed it.

And if he slammed the door behind him, catching a certain approaching monarch with the wooden span, well… oops.  Ignoring the furious fumbling, the ominous turn of the handle, he looked first left than right.

Awe inspiring, blue and silver themed with sky blue carpet, massive pillared topped in an arch, hall to his left, massive awe inspiring blue… well the same to the right.

And not an “exit” sign in sight.

The door opened, the previous softness of the tone was lost in a near pained whining.

“Ienzo, what is the meaning of-“

He took that as a cue to bolt.  Doors, all white, their details blurred as he raced by were equally unhelpful, still he ran by, eyes wildly combing up and about.  Looking for the big red exit sign, recalling snippets of lecture, fire code…  Didn’t a place like this have to have an obvious exit? He tried to put the king behind him, tried to find out, and was focused on the fact that (he was getting closer; he could almost feel those hot hands reaching for his scruff) he wanted gone, was trying to get gone that-

“Ouch!”

From running, to falling, to on his butt.  He glared up at the mountain, all wrapped in stitched silver and blue so that if he pressed against a wall he’d surly blend in, that’d gotten in his way.  The brown maned, stone faced… mountain troll in a uniform-

Suffice to say Ienzo’s scream was very shrill.

Big hands reached for him, he scuttled back, spying fingers instead of claws.  Panic mellowed to desperation, even as the grumbling, gasping, monarch joined them.

“Ah.”  Gasp. “Aeleus.” 

Said mountain of a man made another lunging grab, Ienzo kicked getting the man (a person, not a troll, not that it made the man any smaller, but not claws was good) in the face with his socked toe. Well in the mouth.  The man’s stoniness twisted into a grimace at the taste.

“Really Ienzo such fear is misplaced Aeleus is a gentle-“ 

The hand that was closed over the boy’s shoulder was dislodged after a sharp bite. 

“Aeleus, gently!”  The king snapped as the guard growled, fists clenching. 

One of said fists was bleeding, said phenomenon Ienzo could see easily, being gripped in the man’s massive hands like a load of potatoes, an upside down sack of potatoes. He kicked futility at the air, snarling and snapping, least the mountain of a man got any ideas of this being easy.

“I… don’t think Braig would be good for this…”  The first bit of wisdom yet.  Ienzo glared at his liege, his lord, his captor. Laying off the kicking for a bit to better aim his resentment.

“Probably not, your majes- stop squirming!”  Grumbled the big man.  “If you do _I might_ turn you right way about.”

To that the fighting stopped, and true to his word the guard _did_ turn the child about, but didn’t put him down.  That earned him a kick, but the socks made it a rather pathetic show of malice.

“What are we to do with you, little one?”  The King mourned.

To that Ienzo snapped his teeth.

“Perhaps a muzzle, my lord, and a leash?”

“Aeleus!”  The king snapped.

“A belled collar than?”

To that the king sighed.


	9. untitled

Societies Norms

Chapter Nine

 

While the leash was nixed, the escort was not.

It was with a near palpable grief that would have left the better person uncomfortable that the King decided it wisest not to come along. To that first bit of wit for one reputed to be wise Ienzo might have gloated; only the heavy hand on his shoulder and a warning squeeze deterred him.

One shove to his back, a nudge really, got them moving.

The halls he’d raced through were taken in a quick march.  His slipshod (mocking) imitation was pointed out in an amused quip, but under that mirth there was a stony glare.  And, like the hand, the look had enough weight to it that he toed the line.  For a little anyway.  The massive man’s long legged pace discouraged his attempt at “proper marching”, and he eventually dropped effect for a near skipping run.

Neither effort nor lack of got him any response beyond the first bit of snark.  They trooped in silence, save to stop and have doors explained.  Though all were white there _were_ runes upon their center, carved in, and each rune had meaning. 

Something he’d missed in his mad flight for out.

And for those who didn’t want not look up, or who had no eyes… well the door knobs had notches that any with touch could feel, and those told what was what as well.

Still, that didn’t mean one of the two wasn’t lost.

One attempt to sign what he wanted to say was met with a low growl of warning.  One that was leached of hostility when his charge backed up, eyes widening in true fright.  Though subtle, the boy wasn’t as observant as he claimed.  Thus Aeleus made the metamorphosis from hostility to tell nothing blankness obvious, a touch overt.  The change was quick and done with a grimace that caused the boy to go still himself.

The effect was curious; a throwback to near primeval comedy where one would mime the other, in absurd and odd ways, for further jest simply consider the contrasts. Man, boy, their frames alone… when had children become so _small_ …

“Mr… umm…”

Or quiet, the child seemed only able to converse in whispers.

“ _Guardsman_ Aeleus,” A noise that might have been a chuckle, if grinding stones was meant to convey warmth.  “I am not a civilian.”

 As if that weren’t obvious, build, and step, and spine all stiff and grim told that tale without trying.  Trying not to bristle, endorsement for gentleness hardly holding, after all consider the source, Ienzo took a deep breath.

Temper in hand he tried again.  “Guardsman” silence, after a polite wait the boy dared to continue.  “Are we going back?”

“Why?”

He shuffled his feet, one look down at his feet articulated for the dullest witted the obvious.  He was wearing socks, not shoes.  Hardly suitable attire for walking all about, never mind that smooth white tiles with the odd interlude of color about the corners were the castle floor’s norm.

 If Aeleus were a frivolous soul he might have mimed looking about, teased the child perhaps, brought a smile, perhaps a laugh by the sacrifice of a little dignity and a little time.

If he were kind he’d know.

If he were curious, he’d ask.

He was none of those things, mostly those flaws lay in the others, Even, Dilan, the King, those three were three of a kind.  Yet curiously not, for one was cold, the other callous, the last blind.

As for him, his eyes worked fine, but the more tender aspects of his heart were the edges.  And to break any stone, one must simply apply enough force, enough pressure upon the edge.

So he guarded his edges in curious ways.

Remained still and waiting, and when that proper span others considered polite was passed he turned upon his heel and his expectations were met when the child followed.

XXX

“The main hall, for visiting dignitaries of the other Kingdoms.”

There were other Kingdoms beyond Radiant?  None he’d heard of, in school, and history texts were viciously guarded in the public domain, needing an adult to sign out.  Never having the means to a signature he had simply done without.  Focusing his attentions and everything and anything else.

Perhaps that’d been a mistake.

“Each of the five corners of the ceiling which had got you gapping-“ and gasping, hence why they’d stopped, not that Aeleus would ever say. “Symbolized a land and its relations, the reasons of alliance, ecetera.  Gold for those lands who deal with us in minerals, a tan with green stripes to symbolize those who deal us foodstuff.”

 The above was a wash of colors, all broad and bright, like some child’s lessons in fractions painted upon a dome impossibly high.  The lines that divided the segments were black, thin and speckled with flecks of maybe white, maybe stars.  The finer details were lost in the heavy handed symbolism that was being taught to the one who rested the one who listened.

And the one who saw.  Saw and counted something upon his digits, one, two, three, fours, well past the requisite five.  He reset his fingers twice, then nodded, satisfied at counts end.

“Twenty six.”

Brown eyes met grey, curious a child’s eyes were grey. Grey was considered the color of elders, or wisdom, of steel.

“And what were you counting?”

“Edges, lines,” a shrug, voice descending into a mumble, the last was more rush than sense.  Really heard after comprehension. “The illusion isn’t perfect; there are shadows about the edges.”

Silence, one moment, two, both assimilated the fact offered.  The reasoning between the lines, and the story left unsaid...

“Past this hall, up the stairway, and its carpet, red, whose symbolism you can research at your leisure, is the throne room.  As it is, we aren’t welcome there, not being the king.  However, behind the hollow of the arched stair there is a door to the medicinal labs.”

 “ _Medicinal labs_?”

The incredulous tone filled in all the questions, the most predominant being _why_.

To that unspoken query the guard indulged.  “If someone were to get poisoned, best to have the antidote closest, don’t you think?”

Some more quiet, a nod.

“It’s practical.”  Feet shuffled, a rebuke intended perhaps?

Regardless, he looked on, looked through.  “Being practical is one of the best aspects of the “enlightened” mind.  Shame few indulge it.”

The wince and flush told the guardsmen’s barb hit its mark.  Good, perhaps the child would think, next time, instead of react.

“Can we go in?”

To that longing, such a naked emotion from a child who seemed bent on indulging no emotion, Aeleus blinked.  It was the first beyond terror born fear, and his Majesty  would consider it an improvement, surly.

He frowned at the child’s attire, let his gaze carry all emphasis, he needed.  The shaking of his head was perhaps overkill, as the child already had already wilted under his scowling.

So, he offered a bit of a treaty of sorts, between them, a stand down.

“Even… he’s using the lab, with Braig…”

Something, a glimmer of light, touched the boy’s eyes.  Recognition, surprise, whatever it was was hard to deduce, considering how still the child’s face remained still.

“It would be beyond dangerous to go down there today.”

A nod, to agree, to his words, to his unvoiced offer?  Regardless it was all that was offered, so that they carried on.


	10. Enthralled

Societies Norms

Chapter 10

 Enthralled

They ended where they began.  Save socks were sullied and his knees were stripped with green.

Who’d have known a foray into the royal gardens would have proven so… earth shattering.

The door opened, the guard played gentleman, holding it open for the one he escorted.  The scruffy, scuffled boy, elbows browned dark with soil, fingers caked in deposits of soil engineered for generations shuffled through.  He didn’t close it and whirl about as should have been expected; rather he closed it behind them both.  A barked warning about soiling finery got the child turned towards the bathing room with only a near inaudible grumble of complaint.

Considering the signed profanities and glares, the mere recollection of such audacity had him clenching his hands.  And it was when his hand fisted that he recalled… a crescent of red, a flicker of pain.

Recalling _earlier_ , it was an improvement.

This was an improvement.

But for who, for what cause, he wasn’t so sure.

A confession, barely above a breath.

“I studied plants because no one saw them so no one would care.”

“Stupidity that, considering plants, what they give, via their cycles.”

A nod, blue eyes stayed riveted upon the flora at their feet.  Then nothing, no other confessions, no other words.  He’d tilted the leaves, explained names and parts, showed what he dared  considering his thick clumsy calloused fingers, and was aware that though he asked with slight head tips and made sentences of blinks, there was no sound to the boy.

No other words, half choked with shame

It clashed what he recalled, as a child, in seeing children, where were the near howls of joy, he squeals of delight, the cries of here and awe and…

The water came with a thunderous hiss, steam and pressure, a portable thunder contained to a room.  Taking heart from the splashes he looked about the drawers in the room, picking replacements that were a sturdier bent than sleep wear.  Frowning at the slop shod organization (he suspected Briag’s hand behind it, and when confronted with the accusation the would-be mercenary would confess to a guilt without shame) he spent some time setting socks one way, undergarments the other, and shifting summer wear from winter wear and without much thought.

While he worked he recalled…

Servants had giggled at their coming, at their leaving.  Before and after their mutual foray amongst the greenery the boy had been the point of their mockery, and after… well the boy’s state again, for different reasons obviously.

As for himself, while not obsessively fastidious like some of his peers, there was a skein of soil about his knees, and a grit under his fingers that, had he been in his own quarters, would have been excised with a blunted knife tip.

As it was his knife was there, he was not, and no one was lack wit enough to give the boy anything resembling a weapon.

Idealist their King was, idiot, not so much.

Recalling a few of the signed profanities, the scuffle, Aeleus corrected himself with a wry “sometimes”

Sometimes.

With a screech the plumbing went dead, the silence from beyond the stall was almost deafening after the racket born of loose bolts, water, pressure, and impact of water on flesh.  Pinked, and darkening to match the peach hued towel wrapped about his small frame the boy shuffled to the bed, snapping up the clothes that’d been obviously set by his keeper of the day.

All without a word of thanks.

Aeleus might have said something, was about to, until he saw…

The bones were visible.  All along the spine, the collar bones stood out, and in their flush the cheeks also seemed sharp.  Not as visible as say… Even’s… But the sight was disturbing enough to still his tongue for a moment. 

Perhaps more than a moment.

With a huff and glare the boy took the clothes and left.  The bathroom’s door closed and the lock was set before Aeleus had acquired his senses.  Enough to recall the boy’s eyes had widened and there’d been a flinch, as to why… he only need look at his hand.  Half extended, to halt, to still, to beseech, in his moment of stupefaction he wasn’t sure why.  Only that the moment was over and the movement aborted to fear realized retroactively.

It’d between the bloody hands, bloody hells it stung, even as he belatedly stuffed it into his pocket and became more aware of the wet about his palm once it was confined.

Little wonder the boy had flinched back.

Or rather, a wonder he hadn’t bolted, and to both the guardsman was left to wonder why.

What there was no wondering about-

The door opened, blue eyes flicked to him, an inquiry offered by slant and tip and… just all those small facial features that said “question” really…  A quick glance to the clock gave him one answer at least.

An hour past noon.  They’d been up and about for a few hours, time lost in study and all that.  That nearly summoned a smile, almost. Though contrary and bound to raise hell out of sheer spite, the boy fit in with his would be saviors more than he’d care to admit.

“Lunch time, I think.  If you aren’t hungry,” a real possibility that, considering… everything, “well _I_ am, regardless of your wishes.”

And perhaps the smell of food might wake something like an appetite in the boy.

The snort and glare that comment received was arrogance incarnate.  It recalled him to their first encounter in the hall, and the beginning of their escort, a throwback to a not so glorious time. Gritting his teeth, trying to tell himself he was trying to help, helped him shelve his first impulse, which was to storm off and leave the boy on his own.  He met arrogance with an unflinching stare that made the boy shuffle in place, proving the “arrogance” was a shield, and a shoddy one at that.  

He would not leave, even if the boy acted a royal brat, he would _not_ storm off; for it was painfully obvious (as painful as the boy’s thinness) that the child had enough of that.

And look how well it served him.

“Come, we’re going to the mess hall.”

“Won’t…”

Aeleus stopped at the door, turned, waited as the boy scuffed one untied shoe back and forth.  Clearly the motion was meant to scrape up dust bunnies, and courage.  The guardsman scowled at the untied, untamed laces.  But he said nothing, least this tentative… whatever this moment is called… become undone.

After all, logically a fall would be a better lesson than any prohibition, lecture, or the like.  The boy could learn by experience.  It’s how they all did, after all.

“Servants.”  Risking a look up, then hunching back down, into himself, the boy whispered the last in a rush.  “The King brought servants and breakfast.”

“We’ll eat at the mess.”

Curious blue eyes dared a cringing look up.

“Mess hall.”  He corrected himself, daring a small quirk of his lips; the motion was wasted when the boy studied the floor again.  The tiles must have been a fascinating study. “Come.”

The boy came, and did so meekly.  So much so he might have dared t set a hand on the child’s shoulder, to guild him, save the memory of wide eyes and the flinch at a touch offered.  This was such a far cry from the first flight, the subdued pleasure at study and play, yet still all emanated from the same source, never mind the inconsistencies.

He shook his head, confused by the tanged of inconsistencies, the complex dovetailed into perplexing after the barest moment of observation.

It was a shame and a wonder, a wondrous shame.

And a puzzle within a puzzle, little wonder Even was so enthralled.


	11. How things went

They ate at a long table.  Ridiculously long, a relic from a bygone era where the lords of each territory would parade on of their own, the one with the most exquisite manners, and the time between bites would be passed with political niceties and power plays that the King had so adored.

This King, in that regard was different.

 A brother hood of the elite was struck.  Minds over manners, that point emphasized when you considered who, wined and dined.  Or rather whined and dined, considering Braig was indulging both vices at once.

“When’d we become the save the special kiddie briga-“

Not even looking up from his meal, he nipped at steamed vegetables known for their natural blandness.  No salt or butter (though there was a slew of those, flavored and one or two colored) his repast was so very bland when compared to his peers.  There wasn’t a speck of spice to the whole, each bite was chewed a few times, then swallowed, and more than one of the apprentices had learned through long association that there was a count to the thing.

“Enough Braig, Ienzo has the potential to be a remarkable young man, and who I decide to sponsor is none of your concern.”  Ansem  rebuked.  “Dilan, please pass the butter if you would.”

The glance that was flicked Even’s way, or rather towards Even’s mess of unbuttered, steamed vegetables, was pointed.

Luckily, there, and now, manners were not in consideration, so Even ignoring his liege and lord went uncommented upon.

“I was thinking… Aeleus brought to my attention that the boy was undernourished.  It might behoove him to attend a nutrition seminar; perhaps you could accompany him Even?”

“Hmm?”

 Broke from his count, Even swallowed, nearly choked,  than rewound the question in his mind.  Realizing it wasn’t really a question, the scientist managed to check a sigh by a thin margin.

“With all due respect, Aeleus might be better to escour…”

Ansem simple waited, that patronizing look on his face that screamed “remember me, who I am, I’m your King?”

The obvious, what ached to be said, was the following.

“Of course… your majesty, I will happily set aside my varied time sensitive studies, invalidating many of the studies, to sit in a remedial course to appease your sense of decent diet and baby sit an unwilling boy as well.  I’ve nothing better to do with my time save let precious data rot.”

Wanting to keep his head upon his shoulders, Even only nodded, as close to bowing as he could get whilst sitting, and said nothing at all.

After all, if you couldn’t say anything nice…

They moved onto other things. Chatter of studies, agriculture (something to better ease the boy into their company, at a later date, after all the child showed an interest in plants) and how they might best exploit their findings to help the farmers on the fringes of the windswept fifth kingdom. Dilan liked that part (and my, how little surprise that revelation garnered) and was prattling about how he had found a formula that might, just might, be able to compute the loss of soil to each gust of wind. 

“Much more effective than using old fashioned wind sock sampling, wouldn’t you agree!”  Dilan bragged.

“Yes, because theory is so much more effective than actual sample gathering.  Much more efficient.”  Aeleus grumbled.

“But it misses so much; you can’t have catchers on every spare inch of…”

“The old system to calculate the types of soil, versus the placements of the catcher, and the winder direction to calculate the mass lost post facto….”

“But during!  We could compute during, not wait!”

“Dilan.”  Sipping tea, smiling all the while, Ansem broke into the verbal scrum.  “Inside voice please.  Aeleus, innovation is not something to be feared, which I believe is the crux of your argument.”

Wisdom dispensed, Ansem turned to Braig.  “And your efforts, in containing the few malicious creatures outside Radiant, how are they faring?”

“Touch and go, live samples are hard to get.”  Braig drawled.

“I would... appreciate it if you tried harder.  I would like the hostility gene, and the feral genes eventually isolated in regards to my research.  It’s a time sensitive matter; and is of the highest priority. Would you like me to send someone with you next time, to ease your way?”

Eye thinning, lips following suit, Braig considered, then nodded.

“Maybe.. We’ll talk about it later, my liege?”

“Of course.”

Bored, thinking of his labs, Even speared some greens, then as an afterthought sprinkled on some sunflower seeds.  He needed to get oils from something after all, then adjusted the count in his head and got to chewing.

“Oh, and Even?”

Looking up from his tasteless repast, Even swallowed, though the mush was a bit rougher than he liked he was spared the indignity of coughing by luck more than anything else.

“Yes, sire?”

“Please collect our newest member in the morning, the seminar will be before breakfast.”

The idiocy of interrupting someone’s sleep schedule to reinforce healthy eating habits was somewhat ironic.  A poor trade, really, but well…

“And I look forward to hearing what you’ve both learned, after.”  The King smiled, so sweet, it was nauseating.  “Shall we catch up… say at lunch?”

Said nausea was made all the more gripping when his majesty went to add a dollop of sugar and tea to his tea.  It’d been… what the fifth, sixth such addition to the pot?

“Yes, your majesty, a pleasure.  If I might be excused?”

Because if he wasn’t the sight of such sweetness was going to make his repast become a quite poignant part of the present.

“Of course Even, a pleasant evening.”

Not trusting his  mouth, or more accurately his stomach, Even pulled a sketchy bow and left at a clip too quick to be polite.  Not that he cared, not that they noticed.

But such was how things were and went.


	12. A class, of sorts

The sun wasn’t shining when the knock came.

Suffice to say, sleep tousled, blurry eyes, rumpled, and yawning were rather requisite for his appearance, applying descriptors to what parts were needed was too much effort.

So were sentences, or signing, so he glared up at the man and mutely willed a quick cardiac arrest to the man beyond it before moving to slam the door in the knockers face.

The block of ice that sprung from the floor, served as an impromptu door stop, and the boy scrambled back, to avoid being hit by the recoil.  Using that opportunity to its fullest Even was in, another hand wave banished the ice, and the door was closed with a slam.

Done with the door, with the facsimile of manners, the equally rumpled scientist growled a grim, “get dressed,” no other explanation offered.

If he was expecting to get off the hook or even be obeyed, well that was idiotic. Ienzo’s arms crossed, and the answering glare wordlessly conveyed the wish for the old man to get a brain aneurism.  There’d be more poetic justice with that forum of death, and it hurt more, lasted longer.  Or so he’d read _somewhere_ anyways.

“Young man, you are between me and a cup of coffee, and that’s a deadly place to make your stand.  Now you can either grow up, stop stalling off this bout of stupidity that I don’t want part of either but that we were both _ordered_ to indulge to keep the roof over our heads, or we can do this the hard way.  And before you decide, know that the “nice way” does not involve having ice shoveled down your back, the floor coated in hoar frost, and you being dragged over said frost from point a to get to point b.”

Considering it, the grim gimlet glare, and the fact that the temperature of the room was plummeting, Ienzo huffed but did turn to his meticulously organized dresser to get about clothing himself.

After yesterday he knew if he went out in what he was wearing they’d make him stay in what he was wearing.  And boxers and overlarge socks weren’t comfortable to be seen in.  Not even in private.  He articulated that with a few gestures, and Even reading the signs nodded and did turn about for politeness’ sake.

But he turned so he was facing the door, the only way out.

Sometimes, it was irritating being held captive by someone so smart, it made running away too hard.  Pulling in his pants with a vicious wrench, Ienzo found that the slackening of his grip made gravity play its hand.  Someone had thought this out though, and a little backtracking had him fumbling out a belt from the sock drawer (why would anyone place belts with socks?) and buckled it in place. A few moments seeking and he pulled out an indigo shirt, shoveled himself into it, and was digging about for the shoes he fuzzily remembered stuffing under the bed.

“Can’t reach the last one, can we?”

Really, that was obvious, considering he was sprawled on his belly, pillow in one hand, straining to prod the left shoe somewhat closer.

“You could ask for help.  It’s one syllable, not that hard to produce, and I imagine you could easily finger spell it if all else failed.  Four letters and all that.”  Even drawled, “or are you trying to coax me over so you can smother me to death?”

A nose wrinkle, eye glare of death threat filled in the silence quite nicely.

“Well, I _was_ going to help, possibly lift up the mattress, but now I won’t.  I’d hate to stink the place up with my decomposing; it’s so rough on the staff.”  A quick look to the watch on his wrist, a hum as some internal schedule was consulted.  “You have two minutes, than we go to plan b.”

That elicited quite the scramble, and if Even was smiling at the sight of it… well that was his business, and no one else’s.

XXX

They were hand held through carbs and proteins, pyramids and charts.  All the diagrams were color coated and with juvenile pictures and bold print and the aesops were passed out like candy during a child’s winter fest. It was rather akin to watching someone toss anvils out of multi-story buildings to squash an ant, the craters were spectacular, and so were the misses.

And the mispronunciations.

“Carbs, not crabs you silly chit…”

Mistake that.  He’d been an anonymous face amongst the small press of other men and children who’d all failed physicals, some for the opposite reasons he’d failed his, and she’d treated his comment as a personal challenge to bury him and his ward with attention least he point out more errors.

He’d give the girl credit, she tried to engage Ienzo, all cheerful and wide smiles that quite wonderfully deteriorated into shock and poorly veiled concern when the boy didn’t respond to any of it.  Well, he had responded, by curling up against Even and hiding in the folds of the man’s white lab coat.

That and poke the man, poke than point out a rather dark pungent stain.

“Lab experiment…”

Of course the silly woman misinterpreted that, was nearly hyperventilating as the erroneous implications hit home.

“ _Not_ the boy… last night… I didn’t bother to do my laundry post experiment, was rushed…”

Rushed as he tried to run through all the experiments he could before having to be pulled away by Ansem’s insistent foolery he take a class to better take care of himself.  Sleep had been scanty, Braig had stolen the coffee, and the compilation of deprivations both was making him stupid.

And now the whole crowd was staring, coworker’s from other departments and…

“The boy isn’t a lab experiment, he’s shy, and clearly spliced from some sort of clinging monkey human hybrid, and I blame genetic engineering on that, which I’m _not_ a part of that division…”

So very very stupid.

“So clearly he’s not a lab experiment.’

Clearly.

Obviously.

The boy snickering into his side wasn’t helping, the gaps weren’t slackening off, and finally the woman pulled herself together to start her ramble about over eating.  Doing so in such a loud, forced cheery voice that all the stares went off of him and onto her.

She also looked mere moments form crying, poor thing…  He’d of felt some empathy, (or was it sympathy?) except he was too busy dealing with creeping fingers going through his pocket.

“Stop that.”  He hissed, trying not to singer at the accidental tickles.

Out popped the mini notebook, into those little hands, only a quick twist and snap of his own hands stopped the boy from making a grab for a pen and accidentally finding the beaker of acid he was going to expose to the sun and test its properties post exposure.

“I’ll get the pen, you little thief.”

There were stares, a few here and there, but really, with the girl making a spectacle of herself it was easy to ignore. 

“Here.”

Pen safely retrieved, Even ignored how his coat was being pulled and tugged as the small  frame squirmed about, seeking comfort, sanctuary, and proper poise for writing.  It was a spectacular failure on the child’s part. Since the boy was only half covered when comfortable it killed the sanctuary aspect, and Even having to lean forward just so, winding one hand on the arm on the chair’s to keep them both from toppling… it made the whole mess far from secure.

As if to agree the chair creaked alarmingly.

“Don’t move.”  The boy ordered, braving a whisper, and then he went hard to work doodling.

It took effort not to shove the brat off of him, that was until he spied the mess of script (hardly legible, someone would have to teach the boy better handwriting at some date) on the side.  Questions really, the lot, not about the lecture, but the integrity and structure of plant matter post cooking…  Well flambéing if the height in one of those tentative equations was something to go by.

“Less than one hundred degrees, unless you want charred plant matter, and yes, it would affect different plants differently,  some have a resistance to burning (various reasons that), than there’s weather conditions if it’s natural fires, or the material used to do the cooking if it’s not.”

Curiousity coaxed the boy into something like a loud whisper.  “Fire resistant plants?”

“Cacti for one.”

“Oh…”

“And yes, all plants... anything really that’s safe for consumption, does have calorie or a nutritional aspect.  Unless it’s synthetic… sometimes synthetic food breaks the rules when the chemists get bored. ”

“But it all has molecules?  Molecules make compounds that the body assimilates into…”

To that show of… of sheer wrongness... he mutely cursed the boy’s public schooling and all if foibles. Still it might be humorous, could be humorous if one looked at it in the morbid light. So Even huffed out a soft laugh, taking what humor he could from this mess, and adjusted his grip least they both fall. 

 “All matter does, edibility non with standing… ” 

“Excuse me, Mr.  ah..”

“Lord Eis’Ulfur.”  Even corrected peevishly, then feeling all the stares back, realizing then he’d forsaken all attempts of quieter volume, he cursed Braig, the coffee, or lack thereof, and the fact it had been literally twenty four hours between him and the last time he’d slept.  “I.. ah.. Yes, miss?”

She’d clearly been unhinged at that last bit.  Pale, shaken, overwhelmed, loosing peevishness at his breach of manners all for the sake of a few syllables.

To say the following silence was a bit awkward was… well it was an understatement to say the least.

Considering… everything, Even made a decision, aligned facts and facets, and the evidence of the people’s reactions around him (expressions were plentiful, ranging from hostile to shocked) He stood.  His efforts to brace the boy were touch and go, the child didn’t fall, but there was a stagger, a squawk, but both were standing and a nudge from elder to younger was enough to get the boy moving.

“We were just heading out.  I’m sure to send the favorable review to His Majesty, King Ansem, that you are providing a well much needed service to the community… but, yes, we’re running late, errands you understand-“  He snapped up the boy’s arm, who was well on his way to drifting towards another door.  Perhaps it was curiosity, but Even would wager it would be an attempt to bolt.  The boy, though intrigued by conversation of an intellectual bent, and somewhat pacified when he was being fed information, was still a predictably wild thing.  And running away now would make things look worse than they did.  “So, yes, thank you for your time but we must go. “ 

He dropped his pen then, made  much a show of fetching it form the floor… and if he hissed something under his breathe about lab time, unrestricted, but only if the boy behaved… well that  wasn’t anyone’s business except perhaps the boy’s.

“Yes, _really_ , now trot, we’re late.”

Perhaps the last was a mite loud, but the boy got moving with none of his normal sulky reserve.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Even’s lab was not under the stairway, where the mysterious medicinal lab lay, neither was it up some tower as they neatly bypassed grandiose stairs leading up without ever slowing.  Nor was it at the first door to the left, convenient or near.

They trekked west and as they went grandeur faded.  Halls became longer, with artwork thinning out, and the painters seemed to have taken a holiday as the once painted arch ceiling became more and more bland.

Ornate doors were the things of quarters past, but the hues remained consistent.  Blue ran across the ceiling, a thin stripe to allude to the breathtaking skyscapes that had dominated the other rooms, the ceilings were arched, construction could only be altered so far before it looked bad, but the lack of pomp in turn stripped the whole of personality. The whole felt achingly bare, and the windows thinned, losing colored glass and other niceties until the only additions to these halls were golden stripes and the occasional white coated person.

Each person had a tag, but all attempts to read those were dissuaded by grumbled “stop staring” and a nudge that kept them going forward.

“Where are we going?”

“Coffee.”  Even groaned, sounding very zombie.. very very zombie.  With a shudder Ienzo picked up the pace, keeping half an eye on the man, checking for pallor, and shuffling, and Even was naturally pale and shuffling and so Ienzo went from brisk walk to near dart.  Or would have if the arm clamped down on his own wasn’t there.

The doors that were drawing closer were now all but side by side.  One opened, someone in white coat stepping out, and the view beyond the person confirmed a suspicion that should have roosted earlier.  There’d been a room, smaller, Spartan compared to the one they’d given him… but he’d spied a bed before the door closed and…  And enough was enough.  Ienzo dug his heels in the floor, his shoes squeaking against tile when Even kept going without realizing that Ienzo wasn’t walking.

“What?”

A glare could say volumes, so they spoke without words for a while.

It was Even that broke off the glare fest, though his tone was hardly contrite, and barely touched the edge of civility.  “ _Please_.”  It wasn’t quite sarcasm, that saturated that one word, but it was something akin to it. “It’s been a long two days.  Just… we’re close, and I want a cup, and some quiet, then you’ll get your answers.”

So they walked for a while, slower now, and having spied the black rings about Even’s eyes… Ienzo decided that fighting now wouldn’t get him anything good.

At one door, somewhat segregated from the others they stopped, Even fumbled the door knob and they were in.  It was a small room.  Not a bed room type room, but something of a kitchen, and something of a class room.  The floor s were wood, there was a table, some chairs, and various cookware was butted up against a wall, mugs hung from nails about a wooden frame that might of once upon a time ago housed a blackboard.

Even snapped up one of those mugs and went to the cleanest part of the would-be-kitchen, fiddling with an altar of sorts.  Granted Ienzo had never seen an altar set with a glass pot, the black liquid inside seemed more fitting for a horror story than a spot of worship, but clearly Even was enthralled with the contents, because he poured a mug full of the stuff with utmost care.

“Coffee?”

Wrinkling his nose at the unrepentant smell of _bitter_ Ienzo shook his head, and then got to pulling out a chair.  It was heavy, and taller than the library chairs, but he’d manage.  Looking up at the plop of the boy finding his seat Even smirked, and was met with a truly vicious glare.

“Too young I suppose.”  Even drawled, “-and keep looking at me with that expression and I’ll drop you off at infirmary saying that you have chronic constipation.  The medicines for that taste vile and administration of the non-oral variations are painful.”

“You’d lie?”

“Would you contradict me?  Could you talk, to someone else, to tell them I lied?”

Ienzo’s answering grimace spoke volumes.

“Something you might want to work on.”  The advice was muffled, as the would-be-advisor was occupied with the small fridge on the counter top.  Vanilla creamer in hand he had stashed two small well wrapped something’s between his fingers with barely a grimace.

The coffee cup’s handle was securely held and unimpeded by additional burdens by his dominant hand.

Once all was set in place, and Even was settled into his chair of choice (with obscene attention paid to the fold of his coat to mind the wrinkles) the two slips were offered.  “Nutrition bars, breakfast, you aren’t allergic to nuts, I hope.”

Ienzo shrugged, and took what was offered, fiddling with wrapper and nails until it came undone.  It was a mess conclusion, ending in a collision with the table when the whole fell from his fingers, but Even was too busy playing with his cup to care.  It was a slow sort of play.  One digit cringingly stroked the mugs side, as if testing the temperature, then the strokes became firmer until the handle was eschewed and the whole was nestled in frame of twined fingers.

Suffice to say the cup didn’t steam.

For a while there was nothing, no sound save sips and chews, so both reclined in the quiet, content for a little.

“So, newest apprentice, where are we?”

“Don’t call me that.”  Ienzo whispered.

“Tell that to his majesty, he’s the one running this foolery, not me.  Congratulations by the way.”

If the next few bites on the boy’s part were vicious, well, Even didn’t blame the boy and so didn’t comment.  When the boy tore through bar number one Even passed up his own, the boy ripped the wrapper with a certain malicious glee.

“If it’s any consolation, the rest of us weren’t given much choice either.”

A soft huff served as a classic misdirection, the perfect non-answer.  Still Ienzo ate, endured the thickness, and honey, and sweat, but not artificially so, and clearly he considered. Distance and place, a few words about classes, and seminars, and the bitter smell mixed with a distant place that always smelled like Even’s cup and was distant and adults only and…

“Teacher’s lounge.”

 “Correct.”

There was something of a slurp to Even’s sip, something of ending.  And sure enough the man was standing and going back to his heart’s desire, indulging another cup and steeling another creamer without a wince of guilt.

“Why?”

“Because Braig is in my lab testing the trajectory of something or the other and that’s never safe.  Ever.  Also,” a sip, a grimace at the steam encountered, and the hand went back to it’s pre-cupping, petting, motions. “-the heathen likes _decaf_.”

Lips quirking at Even’s scandalized tone, more than anything else, Ienzo set his legs to kicking nothing.  Pulling out the chair across from his charge, Even sat in stages, and was properly nestled and nested without a wrinkle to his name.

Save for the one between his eyes, Ienzo smirked at that, and Even looked properly worried.

“Where are the teachers?”

“Lessons, classes, teaching, sleeping, we’re exploiting a loop hole in their schedules and have the whole room for an hour if we like it.”  Even’s dismissive ‘this is rudimentary learning, why are we wasting time with this’ gesture was made a bit odd with its cup accompaniment.

“Are you one?”

It’d explain Even knowing-

“No.”

So much for that theory, unless, tense could leave a loop hole...

Was?”

“Light _no_.  You couldn’t pay me enough.”

“Oh.”

Really the fishing was painfully obvious, so Even threw the boy a bone.

“Ex-student, I was careless, excelled at something too many times to claim it a fluke and his majesty had me pulled from my department of Advanced Arcania Practition and Elixir Development and saddled me with an apprenticeship that I couldn’t say no to.  Mother and Father were so proud they disowned me, pulled me from the will, and dragged my name through the mud, it was quite the week.”

Eyes closed Even topped his cup, some chewing and crunching required.  Setting his repast down Even considered the boy, the gap jawed response that was clumsily morphed into a yawn and shrug when the child realized Even’s eyes weren’t really closed.  Setting his mug down, done with pretense, the blond showed the boy a tell nothing expression.  A masterfully done one, all chill disdain and stillness that surly set a chill down any observer’s spine.

“So, you’ll understand that I’m not too horribly sympathetic towards you and your little predicament and the tantrums you’ve pulled.”

“So you’re saying to be good because you had it worse?”

“No, I’m just putting things in context.  After all, data without a scale is irrelevant.”

To that point Ienzo nodded.

“Also, a man who steals isn’t the best model of morality.”

Wrappers crinkled under Ienzo’s nervy hands.  They were little hands, having to strain to bundle up the springy, sparkling papers, least they leap free from the force of tension and release thereof.

“You lied.”

At the seminar, back there, the details didn’t need to be articulated.

“Yes, I did.”  Even the confirmation wasn’t strained, but then neither had the confession been.  “I was bored, you were, and the masses were hostile.  So why stay?”

Nipping on that logic Ienzo twisted papers about digits, finally settling on letting go. They sprang ineffectively against his palm, nicely squished as he flattened one hand then set the other’s main digit to dragging a grain of salt against the table’s grain for a little while.

“What are you going to tell... him?”

“We went, we say, we learned, that’s all he really needs to hear.”

“Hmmm…”  The grain was lost, but Ienzo kept his hand busy anyway, tracing nonsense and nothingness.

“As we have a good... three hours until lunch I propose…. bed.  Yes, sleep is in order, for one of us anyways.”

That made the boy look up, something like coffees bitterness in his answering glare.

“You were so tired earlier, and a balanced lifestyle and all that, right?”

Clearly one of them had been paying better attention to whatever her name had been than the other.  Ienzo considered, considered warnings about medical and medicines, and then decided this was special.  Even was special. He’d risk medical, and worse, just this once.

The response was unflappable, as always.

 “Your tongue will dry out and you’ll taste the most awful things if you trip.” 

The boy’s rebuttal to _that_ summoned up a sigh.

“Crossing your eyes isn’t going to make things better for your coordination… But when you _do_ trip tell me how the floor tastes, multiple times will require a compare contrast reports which I won’t fill out for you, you know.”

That brought the tongue in, and a wonderfully skeptical look was sent to the fore… well face…  Still it made Even’s face twitch into a smile in response.

“Come,” Pushing back his chair, he waited, and was rewarded with the boy clumsily following suit.  “Bed, and if you don’t pull a tantrum in front of his Majesty over lunch I promise to give you a lab tour after supper.”

“P... Promise?”

“Only if you do.”

Ienzo considered it, blue eyes distant, shuffling in place as he considered something beyond the surface.  Finally, one small hand was offered, and Even had to bend a bit but was able to get the child’s hand within his own.  One shake and they were done, done with sitting and lounging in a place that wasn’t theirs.  Even escorted the boy back to his place, and without a word went out to seek his own.

Save one.

“Rest.”

More order than compassion, still it had a ghost of tenderness, and to that Ienzo cracked a smile and nodded.

After all something didn’t have to be articulated.

So he did as he was told, and it was the first easy rest he’d gotten for a long long while.  Even if it was fleeting.


	14. A promotion

Societies Norms

Chapter 14

They are a balanced meal upon simple steel plates.  Ringed ‘round  a round table, the walls were warm hues and the sun glared through windows, making for bright highlights upon one and all.  The guests said little, their host said much, thus specifics were evaded by omission, and for that Ienzo smirked into his repast, causing the Wise to note how much better he looked, how much more cheerful.

Only Even’s intervention kick stilled a smart retort… that on second thought wasn’t all that smart at all.

Thus captivate by obligation and manners, the Wise held his audience in place sans guards.  He dispensed wisdom in a droning melodramatic monologue, arm sweeps included.

Even had ducked one of those, not that the man had noticed.

Ienzo had encountered books like that.  All pompous and proper and plodding that managed to, despite the allure of their subjects; bore the reader to sleep simply by presentation.  He’d fought as he could, when it mattered, tried questions during the worst and breaks when he could, using scraps of paper for queries and doodles both, it had kept his eyes open awhile.  But sometimes you just had to close the book and walk away.

Unfortunately his Majesty, Ansem the Wise, the Second,(inherited wisdom, didn’t that say it all?) was not a book.  He could not be read, than shut, and stuffed back on the bookshelf with extreme prejudice.

Still to give credit where it was due his Majesty had learned a few things.

He did not say “this is for your own good”, or “isn’t this so much better?”, and beyond his first lapse there were no repeats of sentiments of the sort.

On the other side though, he did suggest that the “duties traditional to an apprentice can be lightened upon request, if you’d like to spend time with a preferred playmate”.

That statement was met with a raised  eyebrow, al thin and arched and a curious shade of sky blue that wasn’t quite right.  It was the only motion that the boy indulged, for he’d stopped breathing for a moment.  Still wrapped in the glow of his magnanimous gesture, Ansem carried on, and something about the child before him brought nostalgia to the fore.

“Why, when I was your age-“

Uneven nails tick tapped on the table.  Cutting off reminisce with their rude clatter.  Ienzo was breathing again, still his expression of patient disbelief was present, and it stilled the King in his tracks.

“I don’t have any friends.”

Sun burnt fingers broken arches, darkened by unattended dirt from a day ago twiddled at the table cloth, trying to divide string from weave without undue tearing.

In the following silence that filled Ansem’s study the sounds of Ienzo using the table clothes’ edge as a nail cleaner were almost audible.

“None at all?”  The King gasped, bushy brows butting together to make a front of befuddled fuzziness.

Considering each, one a study of unconcern, the other all but a trademark for emotional overindulgence, Even picked the middle ground.  Though technically servants work he retrieve bowls and plates, stacking them to whims careless drive. A rattling walk to the door, one fumbling effort later and he had the food’s remnants laid out on the portable table just outside.

Someone would take the hint, clean things up.

As for the two inside… well Ansem was proving true to form.  All but melting under the revelation that Ienzo was just lonely and needed affection and…

And the boy had a peculiarly alarming habit of showing teeth, tracking movement, yet sitting perfectly still whilst so occupied.

“Stop that.”

Ansem looked lost, looked to Even and was lost.

But Even wasn’t here to accommodate the emotional turns of his liege.  That was what Dilan was for.  Ignoring that little breech of manners Even thinned his eyes upon the boy, making the target of his words very obvious.

“No biting, of your lab time will be halved.”

The boys answering huff while note contrite was at least subdued enough that Even’s odds of having to pass out shots were minimized.  That really was all that mattered.  His majesties bafflement, Ienzo’s restless _kick kick kick_ at the nearest table leg, really didn’t matter.

There were no cups so the kicking went uncommented on. Ienzo had polished off his glass of milk and asked for nothing else, Even’s iced water, soon warped into ice by boredom was safely outside, and Ansem’s tea was keeping the ice company.

Even had never been envious of his glass ware before, really never wanted to console a cup, had found the whole idea romantic trite.

Now he wanted to, especially under the weight of those two stares.

“Your majesty,” Even’s voice was as soothing as acid wounds in the larynx could allow.  “Are you familiar with the theories of differing intelligence?”

“Ah.”  Blue eyes cleared, and the strain of keeping two eyebrows touching smoothed, as did the man’s face.  “I’d... not forgotten but…”

But the man was a walking encyclopedia of information.  It took time to bring certain texts to the fore, but once penned, or rather read, it was set down forever.  Some page turning required.

With no little suspicion the boy was flicking his gaze from one to the other.  Both eyes were visible and somewhat enlarged by the fact that some lady servant had raked back and then pinned the boy’s blue locks down.  Really, if the boy’s nose were more prominent the analogy of some mouse peering out of their en would have been unavoidable.  As it was Even tugged his own nose, the only tell to his thoughts, before setting his hand under his chin to better contemplate… matters.

“Well boy, are you familiar with the theory of multiple intelligence?”  The answering silence was sulky to that Even cackled.  “I figured not.”

“Even!”  Ansem barked, then rubbed his temple with a hand.  “Child.”  Tone softening, Ansem flicked is gaze to both of them.  Untouched by the rebuke Even did dim his cackles; it was rude to talk over someone else afterx ll.  “Child,” the boy was Ansem’s focus of regard, and that focus squirmed.  “Being without friends is _not_ a virtue.  But that, like many things, is something we can resolve, together.”

Then daring a bite, perhaps worse, King grasped subject’s hand.  A squeeze and at answering wince a release.  Cradling his hand in his lap the boy seemed… gone.  Somehow there but not.  Even’s nod confirmed Ansems suspicions.  There were no bruises on the hand, none spied before or after the tender embrace.

A wordless dialogue skated over the preoccupied boy’s head, clearly flexing of the fingers was of the highest priority.

“If your majesty has not more need of us, I definitely think that a lab tour is in order.”

No more words really had to be said.  Ienzo all but popped out of his chair, newly fitted (poorly fitted, two sizes too  large) white lab coat all but consuming him in its folds at the barest motions.  It also dragged, a hazard that, still the boy hardly cared, and was at the door all the faster for his stumble.

A magnanimous nod, a wordless order was heeded, yet not.

First a truce of sorts had to be struck.

For the outsider looking in, it was a peculiar dance of sorts.  Restlessness met impatience, yet a mutually present preoccupation with practicality reined both in.

Shoulders were hunched at the elders approach, a murmured “If I may?” did something to deflate them, and then at the answering nod the man knelt at the boy’s side, and set slender hands to working at sleeves.  The overlong lengths  were rolled back and rolled tight.  Too tight if the following wordless whimper said anything.  “Oh, now what, stop squirming, you’re making it harder to fix.”

Another squirm, one small hand raked up and the hair fell back, obscuring expression and…

“Don’t poke me with tha-  Ah… perhaps it’s workable…”

Even snapped up the offered pin, set it in place to pinning fabric rather than hair, and iced it to give it greater mass and hopefully better stability.

“Not too cold?”

The boy‘s head shook.

“Good.”

While Even fussed with the other sleeve the boy was busy buttoning up the coat he’d carelessly left open.   The one Ansem had had to cajole than eventually order the boy to put on.  The carelessness of the boy’s donning of the attire was a statement, passive-aggressive at its peak.

And they weren’t even at adolescence yet.

Checking a shudder at that thought, Ansem stroked his beard, watched Even carefully as the boy grumbled something about jellyfish and Even growled something about scissors.  The answering glare to that and a huffy breathe that set the loosed bangs to shivering was all the defiance needed to be seen.

“A later topic than, we could roll the base up I suppose and…”

And that summoned a flurry of action.  The boy eagerly rolled the fabric until it was about waist level, and then tried to stuff the excess in his coat’s pockets.  Even’s efforts at icing the whole in place after pins had failed (and flown) had set the boy in a tizzy of panic.

“Cold, cold!”

It was an almost scream, the closest resembling a normal boy’s volume.

It’d taken the blonde a long bit of persuasion, and some apologizing, to get the boy to be still.  Unable to recall his element, Even had to deal with the problem with leaner means.  He pulled out a pen and chipped off his efforts, after a standoff of glares and shivering, the boy unclipped his belt and while Even rolled up the base of the coat the boy struggled with keeping his pants up.  Eventually both pants and coat were pinned down by the belt.

It was a precarious solution that indulging even the barest of itches would likely undo and would likely come undone in a few steps.

“Still cold.”  Came the grumbled complaint.

“Blame Aeleus, he can’t tell scope or size and he picked out your clothes.”

“The mountain man?”

To that simplification Even quirked his lips in an almost smile.

“In more ways than you can possible imagine.”

“Cold!”

“Hush! And turn around, best to make sure nothing indecent I showing in the back.”

To that the boy flushed and did turn about slowly, Even nodded his satisfaction, then slid his hands into his pockets as he got up.

“You’re fine… as much as your present fashion statement counts as fine, anyway.”

“Don’t want it.”  The boy sulked.

And he hadn’t.  Hadn’t been surprised at Ansem’s promotion of him from civilian to apprentice(he’d have words with Even about that, telling secrets was shameful after all), hadn’t been thrilled at the offering of uniform, of place, or of a home.

To that Ansem sighed, wishing the boy were just more… grateful.

This all was for the better and…

“At least you won’t fall on your face so easily.”

“I wouldn’t-“

Even said nothing, simple gave the boy a taste of his own medicine and rose an eyebrow, expression patiently disbelieving.

“Really Even, you are how old?”  Ansem rebuked.

To that the older man flushed, the boy winced at forgetting who else was there.  Still as both considered him, and there was something like trepidation to Even’s eyes.  As well there should be.

“I’ve matters to consider, Even, please give me your findings after the tour, if you would… Then… Dilan I think, would be best to see to the child’s afternoon.”

“Why?”  The boy dared, and it took some daring if the nipped lip after that one word meant anything.

“To... better widen your experiences my boy.  A wide perspective is the best, it’s unbiased, uncontaminated.”

And to the rebuke, unsubtle as it was, Even flinched.  The boy considered one, than the other, then shifted his bound coat about, nearly undoing the precarious whole.

“A pleasant afternoon to you both.”  Ansem murmured this benediction, mind obviously gone somewhere else.

And it was a dismissal, one that both took and so they took themselves out.


	15. An icy edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Examinations and a pick up that is partially complete for... reasons.
> 
> Half a chapter really, but it works for now and time's an issue. Hopefully the next chapter/other half will be up tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually split this chapter in half, mainly for flow reasons...
> 
> Regardless the other half will be along tomorrow more likely than not. 
> 
>  
> 
> Ienzo's comment about grains and lies relates to two sayings about the truth. To take a grain of salt with something one hears is to acknowledge the other person is lying, or exaggerating. That some caution is required in the hearing. This was employed because Even's offer to lie was obvious. But there's another saying that ties into this as well. "Each lie has a grain of truth." indicating that Ienzo is more than likely to sort out between the lies and truths, it's part warning, part challenge. One that Even uses in the next chapter to sculpt his lies.
> 
> And there are many many lies being told.

Societies Norms

Chapter 15

 

“Don’t bite it, the core’s poison.”

With no further ado the thermometer was then slipped under the sullen boy’s tongue.

More than familiar with what quicksilver poisoning did to plants (there’d been a sill in the quarry’s fields ten years ago, and the damage still hadn’t healed up) Ienzo was very uninclined to bite.  Five minutes later after hopping on a scale and having those number jotted down then converted (it’s used for much dense items, but this isn’t a doctor’s office so I substitute where I must) he’d been relieved of the glass stick via tweezers.

“A little low.”  Even huffed, green eyes flicked from patient to tool, unsure as to which to lay the blame upon, “feeling cold?”

Ienzo huffed, but didn’t deign that with an answer.  He had ice pins holding his clothes together, the room was cold, and about his waist was the drying remnants of Even’s ice belt (which had utterly failed).  He let his glare and goose bumps do all the talking.

“…Apologies, not everyone favors the cold like I do.”

Tools carefully se in their cabinet Even elected to change out his examination gloves, for something of a softer bent.  Recalling how the last digging through the drawers had ended to needles (and some crying, though he’d never admit it) Ienzo shuffled on his sore rear and watched Even’s hands carefully.  They came up empty, save something small, black, and cylinder shaped.

A few clicks, the device pointed carefully at the floor (the first click not, Even’s face had looked horrid in green, that’d summoned a smirk) and Even cycled through the visible spectrum of light.  Settling on a searing white he smiled in satisfaction and pocketed his find.  With a shrill whistle he left his patient unattended, rounded about a pillar and its drape (where the waste station resided, so he’d been warned upon entering the room), and there came no sound of running water.  Just a click, low hum, and then even was back.  Two wrapped something’s keeping the black flashlight company.

“Purple or white?”

Hardly standard psychological fare or the color test.

Uncaring, Ienzo shrugged and was gifted the white for his apathy.  He pulled off the wrapped, would have tossed it on the floor had Even’s glare not stilled the action.  He passed up the wrapper and Even drifted behind the curtain.  While the m was gone Ienzo took a bite, and nearly gagged.  It was bitter, bitterer than bitter.  Lip puckering grimace inducing stuff on a sick and his eyes were bugged and Even was chuckling at the sight.

“Wha-!”

“Lemon/limeade salted mix.  Blame Dilan, he’s the man of odd tastes.”

Licking his grape treat Even was just glad he’d found a way to get rid of one of the bars.  Dilan moaned and complained when his “gifts” weren’t eaten and lavished with praise, getting rid of one of the things without running the risk of being caught out throwing it away was too perfect an opportunity to pass up.

At the distressed noises from the boy on the table Even considered the boy, who was squirming, and had his tongue lolled and was looking anywhere for a sink.

“Chemical cleanse station is behind the curtain, biohazard drop off is on the way ov-“

A click and mushy thump supplied the fate of the would-be treat.  His mind murmured “mercifully it’s been emptied, hence no risk of contamination”

What he settled on saying was “Nevermind.  Use the station, and the shower, once your ears are cleaned up, front as well as back, boy, we’ll finish this little examination.”

As the water kicked up, with all the basement’s requisite clanks and clatters which alluded to plumbing that was ancient, and cold because the heating was as old as the plumbing, Even raised his voice.

“If you’re prompt I might bother to give you some information about the workings of the inner ear!”

It‘d keep one of the two from falling asleep mid examination.

 

XX

 

 When Dilan drifted in to pick up his charge he wound a still somewhat moist child nipping on a grape popsicle and Even prattling about statistics.  It took a moment to realize that he was discussing the growth age ratio into a recorder and that the boy while physically present had mentally checked out.

“Really Ev’ isn’t that a mite unethical?”

“Hm?”  The recorder in the man’s hand rolled on.

Spears strapped to his side, he took a moment to unsling them and lean them against the door.  Shaking his head,  Dilan snorted, really Even was so stupid sometimes.  It was only the boy’s presence that kept the tirade of candor and profanity in check.  Speaking of the kid, he was small, he didn’t need Even’s statistics to see he was at least one tier lower on the age/growth scale said he should have been.  The small wisp of a kid was staring at him, blue eyes scanning him from braided black hair to glossy black boots, with more care than the embroiders had taken to stitching his uniform the child  picked at the threads, tracing where archaic symbols met modern convenience.

Examination done the boy let out a soundless little yawn and went back to licking his treat.

Weird… but scuttle butt was that the kid was fey, and that purple tongue and chin and.. forehead… really?  How’d that happen?  Both enforced and discouraged the rumor mills suppositions.

“So, Enzo was it?”

“Ienzo.”  The correction came from two places, the man’s voice overriding the child’s because the kid clearly had something wrong with his throat if all he did was whisper that soft.  Still, the insistence of non-Even blather did make the man smart up.  The recorder clicked off.

He’d take what victories he could.

“Sorry about that, Ienzo.  Right.  Well it’s a nice name.  Anyway, you don’t mind if I indulge a bit of a snack before we head off?”

The answering shrug really wasn’t an answer.  But Dilan had a hankering for some bittersweet, so he went to the fridge anyway.

A click, and near death experience for his sideburns later and all was well.

Sort of.

“Really Even, could it be any colder in this thing?”

“Yes, but freezer burn becomes a factor.  Too much and the lot tastes odd, too little and the texture is compromised.”

“Only you’d like your food a little freezer burned”

The grumbling was almost ritualistic.  Even was stooped over pages, pen busy, no hiding sticky notes flapped at the writers flurry of writing.  And… considering that, and all the hints, Ienzo huffed.  Revelation late, and smarting for its tardiness, the boy became more animate in his irritation.

“A small project?”

Mmph…”  Dilan had stuffed the limeaide atrocity in his mouth, checks puffed and rather fluffy looking, the sky blue curtain shivered at his back, indicating  the speed of his departure.

“Very small,”  Even smirked at some notation,  “miniscule.”

“Whatsha isps?”  Mouth full, snack sticking, Ienzo shuddered at the sheer delight on the man’s face.  The taste had ben traumatizing.  Still Dilan had tried to contribute.

Such lackluster efforts were easily ignored.

“Why you?”  Ienzo growled.  “Why was it you?”

Green eyes considered him.  All previous glee gone flat as the man’s face folded into those tell nothing lines that might of meant lying, or nothing.  The smell of cold, and chemical, and the overpowering taste of indulgence, was too strong to work through, even for his nose.

“Would you rather it was someone else?”

“Seriously Even, answering a question with a question, about this?”  Dilan barked a laugh.  “Your interpersonal skills are rock bottom.”

“That’s an evasion.”  A bite, more than halved the snack.

“And yours was a statement.  Congratulations, you’re mastering grammar.”

“”Obvious and obviously.”  Game the growled rejoinder.  And if the stick was being gnawed… well Even noted it and went back to his notes.

Clearly the blond considered them done.

“Kid.”  Dilan was more than done.  This was stupid and had the potential to hurt everyone present, no spells or spears required.  He went to the child, thoughts of touching, reaching, making him act, reach out.  “Come on, let’s just leave him, he’s impossible when he’s in one of his m-”

To that offered contact Ienzo pushed off the table and skirted past the guard.  He stormed right up to Even.  Foot stomping was obvious, he marched up to the table, then around it, the kid’s whole frame screaming “temper tantrum”

Still Even wrote, finished what vital note had claimed his attention, and then caped the pen before finally looking back and down.

The blonde didn’t humor the child, act surprised, or contrite, but then such subterfuge wasn’t worth the effort to Even.  He honestly didn’t care enough to humor a child.  The blue haired boy didn’t back down, though seriously one step an Even would have been stepping on the kid.  One thought and Even could have iced the boy.  Dilan grimly watched the older man’s hands, wizards had pet gestures, spell tells, and civilian ones more so than their military trained counterparts.

“Which like would you like?”  Slender digits twiddled with the pen.  A scar on Even’s ring finger (it was all silvery and puckered, some shrapnel still obviously remaining just under the skin but not excised) glinted in the rooms dim light.  “You’ve given me all the time I need to concoct a multitude, so it’s only fair I give you the full selection.”

Small hands fisted, clenched, and relaxed, the boy’s frame shuddered as impulse met reason and the clash was clearly massive.

“All.”

Even went still, then slowly, surely knowing the why of Dilan’s scrutiny, set both hands on the table, flat.

“All?”  Long fingers twitched, the flicks of a maestro perhaps prepping for some grand performance.  Or perhaps the twiddling wave of a daredevil pre stunt.  Dilan personally thought the later was true.  Even’s smirk had acquired a vicious bent, supporting the warrior’s thoughts.  “That’d take a whole day or more.”

“Lies and grains.”

If that meant anything, Dilan had no clue.  Geek speak was not his mother tongue thank you.  And it must have been Geek speak, because Even was grinning, and even Ienzo had enough of his anger dissipate to try a smile.

“While I’ll indulge you a mite, I won’t care to waste a _day_.” Clearly days were precious, more so than say a weeks stipend, or a months wages.  Such was assured by tone alone. “So I’ll give you a deluge of sorts.  Sorting is your job, and don’t whine at me for not liking it.  After all, Dilan doesn’t have all day for our blather, and neither do I.”

The blonde’s smirk was malice incarnate, and Dilan winced, the kid though, he just waited.

Clearly he'd been throguh this sort of thing before.

And didn't that say it all, that no one had stepped in before.

Or that the elder scientist's glare, all half lidded and frigid was enough to still Dilan now.


	16. Of lies

“There are laws, little boy.  About attendance in schools and medical procedures.  Unassailable.  Regardless of your… religious inclination you get immunizations; we’ve nine type of each just in case the odd allergy to the standard appears.  Thus, no excuses.”

One hand lifted, a finger was bared at point’s making, making a point all its own.

“Speaking of things noteworthy, in their lack, the inverse is true.  I’m sure you recall all those standardized tests, one per season, per subject cluster, all dictated in difficulty by your age.  Cutting edge those.”  The lean smile and second finger were offered, simultaneously.  “Your results were noted.”

“Really Even,” Dilan huffed, leaning against the wall.  “Now you’re just being an a- a jerk.”

“No, I’m educating.  Something you’ve never took classes in.”  At the man’s answering hostile silence, Even sneered.  “Would you like another treat?  To help make the medicine go down?”

“I think I need one at this point, Kid?”

Recognizing the offer, the boy just shook his head, not breaking off his ocular examination of the blond.

“Unbelievable…”

“Though your... hmmm…”  Green eyes thinned to slits, lips followed suit.  “Though the biological contributors to your existence-“

“Seriously Even.”  Dilan’s head poked out of the freezer, hand still in, idly riffling through packages of this and that by touch.  “You are _so_ getting stuck explaining meiosis-“  the fridge shuddered as Dilan tugged his hand. “Great…”

“Just take off the glove Dilan.”  Even advised, indulging a roll of his eyes.  “In short, your neighbors may not have spoken to you or your blood relations, but they _did_ talk.”

“Even...  I really like this glove.”  Something rattled, nearly broke from behind the curtain.

“I’m so sorry but donkey’s hooves can’t work facets, or heat the water.  I can’t help you.”  Even tossed back, and if the boy was smirking, well that was none of Even’s business.

Though cheery there was definitely something ominous in the nonsensical sounding. “I swear I’ll Aeroaga it, and your office.”

“Excuse me.”  Even brushed past the boy who was reclined against the table during the “deluge”.  The man was careful not to touch the child, and in turn the child checked his instinctual cringe at the man’s passing.

“What’s the forth?”  Ienzo dared, once Even was out of easy grabbing distance.  Doubly daring as he raised his voice to get past the curtain and the sound of running water.

He had to, raise his voice despite... well because.  What he didn’t have to do, but did anyway, was pull Even’s notes off the table and start reading.

“Hm?”  A soft hiss as a stove was turned on indicated why the man was so confused.  Distraction.  Somewhat distracted himself, Ienzo missed the subtle snarl instilled in the sound. “Well compiling the facts and considering that His Majesty’s- spare me the look Dilan, we aren’t in the throne room, bowing and scraping in such tight quarters would be dangerous, and there is a fire going- many child welfare programs and all those fetching red flags you rose.”  A snarl to some whispered question. “It will boil when it boils, be still Dilan!  I could get the knives, I just ordered a fetching surgical set for autopsies, we could give them a go...  Much better.  As I was saying, his majesty-“

Ienzo silently cursed Even’s handwriting.  It wasn’t chicken scratch, some poor bird had been strangled and it’s dying staggers used for inspiration for penmanship.  A few futile page flips showed that the whole was more of the same.

“I can’t feel my fingers.”

“His majesty was busy, handling a rather problem heavy district.”

“P…procterate…”  Came the chattered correction.

“Good Dilan was rather tied down at the time.  Being Radiant’s predominant trainer and it _is_ training season…  He was busy.”

A splash and squeal.

“Hot! Hot!”

“Pull up you idi-  It’s going to refreeze!  For Light’s sake... Pull up, Pull UP!”  A huff.  “That’s better.  Potions are in the usual spot.”

A hiss and grumble.  Some swearing (manners forgotten) and a gulp.  All this preceded Dilan’s return.  Under the ruckus filled prelude (a clatter and click, pan being thrown into some sink of sorts, the freezer being shut with utmost care) Ienzo slipped the foulder back where it was.

“On’y your kitchen would classify as a death trap.”

“Spare me the drama.”  Long fingers pulled aside the lcoth., and the guardsman padded out first, Even followed, let his regard flick over the table, and Ienzo who was facing them both, back carefully set to the pages, hands tucked in his pockets.  Well as much as they  could fit, around the folds and tucking and all.

“Aeleus caught a bad batch of flu, bedridden for weeks, poor thing.  Braig… was Braig.”

“You aren’t even trying.”  Ienzo countered.

“Are you?”

To that Ienzo opened his mouth, closed it, while thus occupied Even plopped onto a bench.  Dilan was pacing, past Ienzo, past them all.  He shoveled his spears into ether straps, setting the whole with a glower.   The table before him was long, and flat and metal.  But not shined, or steel.  Freezer burnt indulgence was being unwrapped, once sure of the hue, purple, the blond nipped at a corner.  His hum as he savored the texture of ice crystals before they melted on his tongue was quite loud.

“Patricia.”  To that name Ienzo jerked, eyes wide and wild, waiting for the words that would hurt like a fist…  In turn Even’s expression softened, eased  past the tell nothing blank slate he normally employed when lecturing at the library. 

Not that Ienzo recognized the slant, or the meaning.  But the tone followed expression’s direction, and the whole had something of an offering to it.

“Now she, she was rather ineffective, wasn’t she?”

Last lie done, Even took a bite.   Ienzo waited, and waited, and when nothing else was forthcoming tried a glare.

His eyes smarted; perhaps it softened the edge of his glower.  Perhaps it didn’t.

Indulging a sizable bite, Even tracked Dilan’s pacing, or perhaps he was tracking Dilan’s spears.

“Nothing to say?”  The silence, two fold, said plenty.  “Enlightening.”  A quick nip, another hum.  “Well regardless, there is a door.  Use it.  Or don’t. I don’t care.”

Thus Even stood, strolled past child and guard and pushed past the curtain that shuddered at his passing.

“You owe me a glove!”  Dilan snarled.  A jerk of his head got Ienzo moving, a flick of the boy’s eyes confirmed the unbelievable.  One hand gloved the other raw red and bare, clearly the potion used hadn’t been of very high quality.

“And you owe me a potion, if you weren’t so vain it might not be to you very fiscal loss.”  Came the rejoinder.    Dilan was herding Ienzo out,  and Ienzo, more distracted with thought of other things, mind a while with the mundane task of sorting (because he had so much to sort through, now) went along without any efforts of rebellion or running. “ _Do_ close the door on your way out.”

Dilan’s reply to that was to slam the door behind them.


End file.
